Suspain Missing Scenes
by schaferdramaqueen
Summary: Stupid title. "Missing" scenes from the movie, and afterward. Very, very, very Suspain. Fluff and depression.
1. Walk to Aslan's How

**If I really owned this, do you honestly think I'd be writing fanfiction instead of organizing day-care programs for Susan and Caspian's children? Really? Well, I don't. And so I'm not. *pouts***

**Scenes that were missing from the movie. The deleted scenes are presumed to have happened or will happen in the future- they are not here. **

**Because Suspain fluff is one of the better things in life and we all need some more.**

Walk to Aslan's How

Narnia.

She had never expected to see it again. And here she was, in the middle of another war, yes, but almost giddy with happiness nonetheless.

Peter walked in front of her, having a long and involved discussion with the centaur…Glenstorm, had he said? He reminded her so of Orius, down to the proud tilt of the head, the way he scanned the forest around them every few seconds for possible attacks.

Behind Peter, slightly to the front and side of her, stood the young man whom they had met not an hour before. After offering a cursory explanation to the High King, he had lagged behind, a rather forlorn cast to the aimless way he swung his arms. He didn't seem exactly like royalty to her, she thought, eyeing the back of his head ponderously- but then, neither had she in her first attempts at queen. There was an air of potential about him, Susan decided, and a sort of untried strength that might, in time, become a sense of quiet power. She smirked at how these observations would sound if she voiced them aloud- she, a teenage girl, have the authority to judge the next king! But then, she had been older, once.

Wanting to test the truth of her suppositions, she quickened her pace so that she walked side-by-side to Prince Caspian. _Dear Aslan, he's tall!_

"Your Majesty?" He turned his face towards her, questioning. _I suppose he's not met many who would walk next to him,_ Susan realized.

"You seem a bit shell-shocked." She smiled and nodded to her brother. "Peter does that to people. I keep telling him that he should tone it down, at least for the first meeting, but he doesn't appear to have taken my words to heart." A theatrical sigh and exaggerated shrug invited the other to grin in return.

Instead, the prince's face fell into the lines of an unidentifiable expression. "The High King certainly knows what he is doing," he remarked tonelessly.

"But…?"

The man hesitated. "He's a great and powerful king, I do not doubt it."

"You can speak freely, Prince Caspian. We do not seek to muffle voices, yours least of all."

He took a breath as if before a plunge into icy water. "Narnia has changed in the years that the Kings and Queens of old were gone. Ancient enmities are meaningless now…Queen Susan, I do not seek to criticize your brother, but the plans and tactics that have worked for him in the past might not be the right thing today. The facts have shifted. Our opponents are not Narnians this time, but men, and men that I know better than any here." Catching sight of her stare, he hastily stepped further to the side. "I…apologize, Your Majesty. That was impolite. I have asked for your help, and I should not condemn it."

Susan frowned, taken aback by his sudden and acute perception. _Perhaps he is further along then I thought._ "No," she said slowly. "You're right. Thank you." Brow still crinkled, she hurried to catch up to Peter, intending him to listen to her.


	2. Before Picking Marshalls

Before Picking Marshalls

_ "You might need to call me again?"_

_ "Oh, shut up."_

Caspian listened to the fading echoes of their words, barely daring to believe what had just taken place. Had she…she didn't hate him for who his uncle was? For ruining the castle raid? Was her last comment an…_invitation_? She, High Queen Susan of the Golden Age! A wide grin spread across his face and he leapt up into the air, biting his lip to keep from whooping. He couldn't imagine what he had done for her to even accept the possibility of his help, but… he jumped again, smacking his heels sharply together before landing. It was a trick he had acquired from one of the palace stable boys before his uncle had forced him to stop talking to them.

"Prince Caspian?" He froze, hand going to the hilt of his sword. Turning slowly, he saw King Peter regarding him with an expression of confusion. Embarrassed, he quickly stepped forward and tried to cover for his lapse. "I…what brings you here, King Peter?"

"A faun sent word that there was a bear who wanted to see us both." The king was still eyeing Caspian suspiciously. The Horn! He quickly hid it behind his back, praying that the other man hadn't seen it, or at least hadn't realized its significance.

"Yes…well…I suppose…" His uncertain glance was answered with a nod from Peter, who strode away down a side corridor obviously expecting Caspian to follow. He stowed the horn safely in his belt and ran to catch up.


	3. Ride Back to the Battlefield

Ride Back to the Battlefield

_ "Are you sure you don't need that horn?"_

Susan grinned and grabbed the hand he offered, swinging up onto the horse behind him. "You couldn't have come ten minutes earlier?" She teased into his ear, gripping him firmly around the waist to keep from falling off onto the forest floor.

His laughter shook the arm she was holding him with, sending a vague shiver up her spine. "I suppose that would ruin the effect of the one-liner though, wouldn't it?"

"Maybe a little bit." The horse surged underneath them, jolting her into Caspian's back. He took a hand off the reins, reaching back to steady her. "Has it been a while since you last rode, Your Majesty?"

She drew back, stung. "I'm a perfectly good horsewoman! It's just that I'm tired and I can't really see and this bloody animal-" She fell silent, worried that she might have offended the prince, or his charger.

To her relief, he laughed again, patting the horse's flank fondly. "Destrier is a bit difficult to get used to, under any conditions. It took me longer than I like to admit to persuade him into bearing me, and I still have to stay alert…once I was riding through the forest and I turned around to look at the men who were pursuing me. I ran straight into a branch, right- ah, you can't see." Caspian took the fingers of her free hand and reached them around, pressing them gently to a spot on his forehead. A slight bulge marked the place of a bruise. "Right there. He dragged me behind him for several yards after that. That's what I get for not paying attention!" His skin moved as he smiled; Susan realized that she still had her hand on his head and snatched it back, tucking it behind her to keep it from trailing aimlessly through the air. A strange and not altogether unpleasant tingling spread from her fingertips up through her arm; she dug her nails into the soft flesh of her palm and thought sternly of her multiplications tables. A thought presented itself to her as she dragged her mind back, a thought that sharpened her senses with foreboding.

"Prince Caspian, these men…they didn't…happen to be your uncle's men, did they?"

He stiffened and fell silent. After a pause so long Susan had abandoned all hope of an answer, he whispered; "Yes. They were."

"That was the night you called us, wasn't it." She felt awful. He hadn't asked for her to bring Miraz up. Surely he had been glad of the brief respite from such heavy contemplation- she mentally kicked herself for ruining his laugh. "Please. I'm sorry. I didn't mean…sorry."

"It's alright," he said, so quietly that Susan had to strain to catch the words. "I won't...ever really be free of him…I think. It would be pointless to try and hide it."

"Still, I was tactless." She glanced around awkwardly and drew her bow again, more for something to do than anything else. Trunks and branches flashed past her, blurring into a green-brown stream; sometimes her eyes would catch a blackberry, a flower, a leaf, making it appear to jump out of the surrounding foliage. The images remained glowing in front of her nose a second after they had passed, creating a rather sickening vertigo.

"I can't seem to forget that- that Peter's fighting him now, and I…" Her voice trailed off. Susan stared intently at the back of Caspian's hauberk, unsure why she felt the need to explain herself to this man.

"Your family, you really love each other." Caspian's tone was one of wonder, of awe.

Susan nodded. "We do. Sometimes we forget that, but afterwards we're closer than ever- it's Lucy that really reminds us who we are, brings us back when we go too far." There was another silence in which a bird called, high and piercing. Muffled yells from the battlefield could be heard in the distance- they must be getting close.

"I don't think it's Lucy. I think it's you. I mean," the prince said in a rush, before Susan could protest, "When you speak, the things you say- it's as if they make your siblings stop and think before they forge ahead. They really look up to you, even King Peter, when he realizes that he's being-" he stopped and ran a hand through his hair, as if frustrated that he couldn't properly explain his thoughts.

So shocked was Susan that it took her several moments to formulate a reply. "You were watching?" She didn't know whether to be angry or flattered.

Caspian shifted uncomfortably in front of her. "I was curious. Telmarine politics leave little room to form lasting familial relationships."

Susan chuckled, caught herself, and then began again as the prince joined her. "I imagine it wouldn't, at that," she said when the fit subsided. "But if- oh!" The trees ended abruptly; across the field she could see, framed in a crumbling stone doorway, a figure she knew to be her brother. In front of him stood a man in a golden helm, sword drawn back as if to strike.

Caspian made not a sound, but his shoulders tightened and he spurred Destrier faster.


	4. Before the Coronation

Before the Coronation

The table was made of good, dark wood, polished smooth each morn by a select and discreet pair of maidservants. Caspian brushed his fingertips over the grain, tracing the outline of a knothole. How many times had he sat here, with his father, listening as he spoke? How many days had his Professor spent teaching him from this very chair? The emerald inlays of the king's seat at the head of the table glittered at the corner of his vision, mocking him. He, ruler of all Narnia? Really? A fist of apprehension clenched under his rib cage, churning up a nausea with the breakfast he hadn't been able to eat.

"It wasn't stolen, you know." Caspian jumped, banged his shin on the table leg, and, swearing, looked up. Queen Susan stood in the doorway, silhouetted in the light from the next room. He flushed and tucked the injured leg behind the other, berating himself for being so foolish. _What must she think?_

"I apologize, Your Majesty," he stammered. "I should not have used such words near a lady's ears." Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Unexpectedly, she laughed, the sound ringing off the walls merrily. _No bell would chime so sweetly, _Caspian thought, smiling, and then promptly quashed that before more soppy observations could stem from it. _She's a Queen of Old, _he reminded himself harshly, and nearly missed her next statement.

"If all it took was a few oaths to turn my stomach, then it would certainly be a fearful thing for me to be left in charge of an entire country!" She stepped across the floor, so that she no longer blocked the lamp. The glow spread out into the chamber in her wake, touching everything in a bath of gold. He could see now that she wore a red dress, puffed slightly at the shoulders and elbows. The fabric hugged her figure in a way that made Caspian picture something very ungentlemanlike like on his part. He blushed again and quickly summoned up a mental image of what Susan's brother would do to him should he act.

"This table, though," she said, apparently unconscious of the effect she was having on him, "was given to us in the second-to-last year before we went back through the wardrobe. We were trying to build a trade road up to the northern mountains, but the only existing path was choked in trees. Queen Lucy and I had gone up to ask them to move aside, but this one," she rapped the wood surface sharply with her knuckles, "didn't want to leave the spot where she had spent so many happy years. She offered herself to us, most eloquently. We refused at first, but she insisted, said she would be proud to know she was part of the lives of Narnian royalty." She bent her head to the gleaming surface, hair swinging forward to hide her expression. "We gave her the highest honor we could find. She was always to be in the room in which the chosen wait to be crowned…I am glad that your forefathers have continued the practice."

Caspian looked down, eyes wide. He could not have envisioned that anything would make him fear less what was to come, but somehow learning of this enormous gift soothed his anxiety, quieted his worry. If he had heard this story any other time, he suspected, it would only have heightened his panic, but now he felt honored. "Thank you, Your Majesty," he managed.

"Susan." Laying her hand over his arm, creamy skin a striking contrast to his own tanned flesh, she leaned forward. "It is Susan, plain and unadorned. Only a ceremony separates us in rank, now. Aslan has named you; were you to leave this chamber and begin issuing orders at once, few would argue." Rough calluses, different from ones wrought by sword or dagger, pressed gently into the top of his wrist. "But most of them do tend to get annoyed when they are denied the excuse for a good party…and the feeling, when the crown is set on your head, and you look out over your people, with your future, their future, shining out before you…" She sighed, gazing off into times long past. "It is not one to miss."

Respect for her, for who she was, for what she had seen, washed through him and left him breathless. "Then I shall not, Majesty."

"Susan," she insisted. "Are we not friends?"

He smiled. "That we are…Susan."


	5. At the After Party

**NOTE: Characters, in case you haven't noticed, have been aged up. Peter is 18, Susan is 17, Edmund is 15, Lucy is 13…at least in appearance, as they are of course older from their Golden Age Years. In this fanfic it has been 5 years rather than 1 for them since their first Narnia visit. Yes, I know, but I needed a way to justify it to myself and this is what I picked. **

At the After-Party

It was a good party.

The food was delicious, delicately sugared pastries and paper-thin slices of meat (from non-talking animals, of course) melted on the tongue, leaving a lingering taste of perfection. The music, a seamless blend of old and new, set every foot tapping; it wasn't long until silk-shirted gentlemen and elaborately made-up ladies, gown shimmering in jewel-trimmed folds, filled the gleaming dance floor.

"Susan?" She beamed up into his face, still gilded with the wonder and joy of his coronation. The hand extended towards her was bare; that was unusual at a celebration such as this, and Susan raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"Did you see the gloves they made me wear?" He took the objects in question out from where they were tucked in his belt, holding them up for her to see. "Wool," he explained mournfully, stroking the outsides. "And fur-lined." He sighed a martyr's sigh. "Is _everything_ going to be this difficult?" Dancing eyes belying his long-suffering expression, he pulled her gently out of the molded silver chair in which she had been resting. "I can't imagine how you stand it."

"At least you don't have to wear skirts," Susan pointed out, following him to the center of the room. "Soft and fine Narnian fabric may be, but it's torture in high summer."

"I think I'd look a little strange in a skirt." He glanced down at his boots, exaggeratingly thoughtful. "But I've never tried. Perhaps I'll start a new fashion, have us poor weak men understand what you women go through."

"You'd be shouted out of office within the hour."

"Forevermore to be remembered as Caspian the Cross-Dresser." They laughed together; then the first chord struck the air, immediately dashing off into a fast, powerful beat. Susan froze. This wasn't familiar…

Caspian didn't appear to have noticed. "I suppose it'll be memorable," he went on, and casually wrapped his right arm tightly around her upper back, drawing her closer. Startled, she slapped him away. "What are you doing?"

"Don't you want to dance?" He stepped back, tucking his elbows into his sides, palms extended towards her. His expression one of confusion and surprise. "I'm sorry, I thought you did."

"You mean that…oh, I…" She felt her face grow warm and knew that she was flushing bright red. "I've never danced this one before, and-" The couples around them were turning to look, wondering at the cause of the disturbance. Susan whipped her head back to Caspian and dragged the corners of her mouth up into what was hopefully a pleasant expression. "I didn't mean to embarrass you like…oh…!" She clenched her teeth together to keep from cursing. "Any suggestions?"

His lips twitched, as if he was trying not to smile. "I'll teach you. It isn't hard. Here, put your wrists on my shoulders." He put his hands back as she did so, though this time he left a person's width of space between them. "And with the first note," A nod to the musicians, and the tune started up again. "It's _one_-two-three-four, _one_-two-three-four…" It was quick, and Susan's feet kept getting tangled up; as simple as Caspian made it, it wasn't long before she was out of breath and laughing. "I'm hopeless," she gasped, clutching his forearm for support as she again tripped over something that wasn't there. "I'm sorry. This isn't working. Set me aside in a chair and find some other damsel who isn't completely incompetent."

His teeth flashed as he threw his head back, grinning. "You're much better than I was…"

"Oh, just you wait until they play one of the old pieces written for the Golden Age. I'll show you then!"

"I haven't a doubt. You're usually so graceful…besides, there is some good in being a beginner. We don't have to worry about worming our way through the rest of the dancers-"

"-that _could_ be because they've all learned to run away."

"True. _Front_-two-three-four, _side_-two-three-four, put you hand on my chest and _back_-two three-"

"What?" Susan's muscles stiffened.

"Hand on my chest." Grabbing hers, Caspian placed the palm over where his heart would be. "Now extend your arm, and back." Her eyes on the fingers that so carelessly rested on the front of his tunic, she swallowed, toes flying backwards; she hadn't realized how small the distance separating their bodies had become.

"Susan?" She raised her chin. Caspian's face was right in front of her. "I'm going to lift you now."

"What does- aiy!" The involuntary yell leapt from her mouth as he scooped her up around the waist and threw her into the air, spinning her a half-turn, a whole turn. The music ended. He set her back down. "Like the finish?"

"I'll tell you once I stop hyperventilating." Hair tumbled down her shoulders, pins having come loose in the furor. She looked back at Caspian, beaming; his face shifted abruptly from mirth to recognition to solemnity. His eyes dropped to his boots.

"Is there something the matter?" She reached a hand out, to stroke his cheek, but hastily jerked it away. The awkwardness sprang up again, frightened and crippling.

Caspian shook his head, bouncing slightly on the ball of his left foot; after a moment he met her gaze. "No, it's that, for a moment you reminded me of…there's a statute, a statue from the elder days. I found it when I was younger, and she seemed…" His eyebrows raised unconsciously in nervous inquiry, making him shy, vulnerable. "Would you like to see her?"

A small sparrow fluttered its wings under Susan's ribs. "I'd be honored."

A grin split Caspian's face and he offered his arm, bowing with mock pomp. "Madame?"

Tipping her nose up in an equally superior expression, Susan laid her hand on the proffered elbow. "But of course." They strutted through the carved doors, barely managing not to burst into gales of laughter.

Half-hidden by a pile of cakes, at a table nearby, Peter was watching them somewhat distractedly. He was tapping his finger to the beat of the music when his younger brother barreled into him. "Peter!"

"Ed!" Wincing, the High King picked himself up off the floor. "What possible reason would you have for knocking me to-"

"Susan! She's just left the room with Caspian!" Edmund paused, waiting for the explosion; then he whacked Peter lightly on the back of his head, frustrated that he refused to show the proper concern. "Oi! Did you hear me?"

"Yes. And I know, I saw them." Calmly, the older boy dusted off the seat of his chair and sat down again, turning away.

"Well? Aren't you going to do something?"

"Maybe it's time we started trusting Prin…_King_ Caspian. He's certainly earned it."

The other stared at him in disbelief. "This is _Susan_ we're talking about, Peter. Our _sister._ With a _man._"

Peter frowned, scratched his chin, and stood again. "You're right. Maybe we should- Lucy!" He called, and the young queen darted through the crowd, jumping to a stop in front of him.

"What is it?"

"Susan's gone out with Caspian, and-"

"It's about time!" Lucy interrupted, reaching across her brother for a pastry. "It was beginning to get on my nerves."

"_What?"_

"Well," she went on, mouth full of cream, "The sexual tension was pretty obvious between them. I'd keep trying to talk to one or the other and all they'd do was stare at each other hungrily over my head."

Eyes bulging, Peter jolted upright, making a strange choking noise deep in his throat; Edmund pounded him on the back, causing a slight disturbance as the guests looked up to wonder if one of their kings was dying. They turned away in relief when he showed signs of breathing again.

"That sounds really odd coming from a thirteen-year-old," Edmund observed, pushing on his brother's shoulders in an effort to make him relax. "Almost creepy."

"Technically, I'm twenty-eight," Lucy replied, wiping her fingers on a napkin, "But I understand how you feel."

Gasping, Peter finally managed to beat Edmund away and lean towards Lucy. "Look," he croaked, "Will you follow them for me? Make sure they're not doing anything…ah…improper?"

She scowled. "Why? And why me?"

"Ed and I are too old, too obvious. You still appear young enough to get away with the 'Oh, I was just looking for the lavatory!' excuse."

She looked at both of them, sighed, and shrugged in defeat. "Fine."


	6. Confessions in the Courtyard

Confessions in the Courtyard

"Caspian, _where _are we going?" Susan's legs were sweltering under her skirt, her hair creeping and stifling on the back of her neck. It was taking a considerable amount of effort not to pant. They had been hurrying through the palace for a good quarter of an hour, up stairs, down stairs, side corridors, wide lobbies, high terraces, low and narrow corridors that were more like tunnels than anything else, and that gave her the distinct impression that they were underground. She didn't want to admit it even to herself, but she was beginning to get annoyed.

It was eerie in this part of the palace, out of reach of the ballroom. No maid dusted the windowsills, no manservant stationed protectively outside of a chamber. It was utterly empty. Dark shadows stole across the soft carpeting, black and deep blue in the light from the sliver of moon. It had been striking at first, enthralling, a hidden secret and a barely suppressed whisper; but now it was slightly unnerving. Susan tried to quash the feeling of unease that crept up her spine, digging needles of fear into her bone…she was not entirely successful. No matter how many times she reminded herself who Caspian was, that Aslan had approved of him, that he surely wouldn't do anything to her, a tiny voice in the back of her brain kept repeating Peter's warnings. A wispy, distorted image of Rabadash drifted behind her eyes, superimposing itself over the velvet wall hangings; she shuddered and snapped her head sharply to the side, trying to shake free.

"Susan?" The quiet accent cut into her mind's haze, tugging her back to the here and now. _He's gone,_ Susan thought fiercely. _Thirteen hundred years gone. You won't ever have to worry about _him_ again._

"I am sorry." He was speaking again, looking her full in the face, worried. "This is taking too long…but it had to be hard to get to. Otherwise it would surely have been destroyed." He took her hand, gripping it firmly and warmly and despite her irritation Susan couldn't help but to think how nice it felt. "It's just down this last corridor," he said, pulling her gently around a corner. "I promise."

She nodded, and then smiled, so that he wouldn't think she was mad at him. "I was…remembering…a few things," she said by way of explanation. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye but said nothing.

"Here." Caspian lifted a torch from the wall, holding it aloft to illuminate the space in front of them, but the flickering, orange circle of light did little to make the area clearer. As if sensing this, he turned and placed the torch fire-side down in a small cup mounted on the wall for just this purpose, extinguishing the flames with a muffled hiss. Susan stepped forward, opening her mouth to pass complementary judgment on whatever it was before her...and then she saw.

She was in a courtyard, lined with low hedges and benches of marble. Night softened the edges of the scene, hushing the world away, creating a small place of calm in the middle of unyielding stone. A fingernail moon threw the barest shimmer over a statue in the middle of the square, a small tree tucked snugly into the place where two hedges met, the grass that was slightly overgrown. The stars seemed to shine brighter in the stillness, twinkling merrily in unfathomable heavens. Even as she stood there Susan could feel her shoulders unknot, her muscles relax. A cool ribbon of breeze brushed against her cheek, caressing the skin; she closed her eyes and sighed.

"Do you like it?" He was standing somewhat nervously a half-step behind her, off to her left. She looked back at him, pressing her lips together to stifle the abrupt desire to giggle.

"It's lovely."

He eased into a grin. "I thought you might think so." The relief was evident in his voice. Susan wondered what exactly this place was, what it meant to him. Why he had been so intent upon her finding it pleasing.

They stood for a moment, studying each other; then Caspian broke free with a swift movement of his arms, gesturing towards the center. "This is what I wanted to show you." She reached for his hand again, and he gave it willingly, drawing her forward. Now Susan saw that what she had thought was a simple carving was in fact a fountain, chiseled delicately out of pure white stone. A woman, serene and beautiful, floated above the water-filled pool on an ivy-decorated platform. Her lips were turned up in a kindly smile, eyes gazing out with compassion upon the viewer and giving the impression that she was looking directly through any defense and into deepest imaginings. Far from making one feel vulnerable, however, the aura of calm about her gave one the sense of motherly love and divine forgiveness. Water ran in shifting silvery streams down her gown, stemming from hundreds of small holes on the underside of her bodice and neckline. Her left hand hung loosely at her side, her right held palm-up in front of her not demanding but offering. The whole thing seemed light and insubstantial, as if a cloud or a spirit, and yet it possessed an undeniable strength. Susan was afraid to touch it, as if it would be defiling something holy.

"This is what I meant." Caspian grazed her back with the tips of his fingers so that Susan would turn, now pointed the same way as the statue. "You have the same profile…" In the air in front of Susan's nose, he sketched the shape of a face: forehead, lips, chin. "But I think now-" He squinted, frowning, and then without warning lifted her up again as he had at the party, setting her down on the wide smooth rim. She was now of a level with the carved woman; Susan saw that the other was slightly taller. Her flesh burned through her gown where Caspian's hands had touched.

"You're prettier," he observed, apparently unaware that Susan was still trying to pull oxygen back into her lungs, "Something about the statue's face is less…" He searched for a word. "I cannot explain properly. But you are-" breaking off, he averted his gaze, backing up a few steps. Susan wrinkled her brow, moving again to the ground.

"What is it?"

"I apologize," he said, clasping his fists behind his back, eyes still fixed to the grass. Susan was mystified.

"Why? What for?"

"You…you're a human being, a woman, a queen, and here I am looking you over as if a horse for purchase." Angrily he strode to the darkness cast by the tree, jaw clenched.

Susan hesitated, then followed. "I know that you weren't trying to-"

"But I did!" He burst out, and then jerked his head away, chest tightening. When he spoke again, his voice shook. "Not even a day into kinghood, and I'm already becoming my uncle."

"No, Caspian," Susan started, reaching forward, but he cut her off.

"Stop!" He barked, back still to her. She froze, arm still half-spanning the distance between them, and then let her elbow fall back to her side. This sudden shift in emotion alarmed her, made the walls around seem looming and threatening. Moonlight dappled through the branches on their figures, one so dark, the other white-as-pearl. It was a space of contrasts and severity and things hidden, and before she had time to think about it she had walked forward to put her hands on Caspian's shoulders. He twitched her off as one would a bothersome fly and she bit her lip, concerned. Was he ill?

Again, she stretched out her arms, brushing his tunic. Suddenly Caspian whipped around, catching her wrists in his palms, nearly crushing the tender skin with the strength of his grip. She jumped in surprise.

"Look at me, Susan!" he cried, shaking her. His face had taken on the guise of something desperate an unleashed, an animal who knows his hunter will bring him down. The shadows across his features only exacerbated the picture, not concealing it as they might have. "Every time I see you, I think...it's not right, Susan, the things I think about you. I try to reason with myself, remind myself who you are. Sometimes I even succeed in convincing myself that my feelings are nothing but the admiration due a revered monarch of the Golden Age. But then you'll walk in the room, laughing or solemn or wary or stooping to listen to the complaint of the meanest serving-maid and I-" he stopped, and Susan tried to pull free to comfort him, but her wrists were clamped too tightly in his fingers. "Susan, Susan, Susan. It's the way my uncle looked at my aunt, possessive, coveting, like a greedy child with a bag of sweets. I can't let myself become like that, and that's why you can't-" somewhere between the words he had started to cry, tears splashing across his cheeks and wetting their clasped hands. He bowed his head, unable to go on. His hold loosened and Susan managed to yank free, massaging her wrists. There was a silence, him anguished and sobbing, her with her gaze flicking over him, pondering. Then she lightly placed her hand on his forearm and pulled him out into the open air. He went surprisingly docilely, worn by confessions and shame.

"Open your eyes." When he did not, Susan lifted his chin, tapping him on first one eyelid, then the other. This time he complied, blinking in the reflections from polished stone. Tear-tracks still marked his beardless face, which Susan now realized was not shaven due to personal preference (or, at least, that was not the only reason) but in an effort to lessen any resemblance between himself and Miraz. She could tell when he began to relax, see it in the way the sharp creases between his brows smoothed, his shoulders un-hunched and his neck pulled back into his natural stature. Finally he stood as he had before, tall and straight and true. Loath as she was to tug him back into pain, she had to ask: "Why did you bring me here? If you felt like this."

She had expected him to take a long time to answer, even to pretend not to have heard the question. Instead he pointed to the fountain.

"When I was younger, and things were…when there was trouble, I would escape and hide here, in this courtyard, to find an island of reason in the storm of politics and corruption. I would sit- there," he indicated the bench nestled against the trunk of the tree, "and I would study the face of the statue, and it would seem as if she was the only safe, sane, tangible thing in the world. I would fancy that she was protecting me, my family. And then when my father-" his voice caught. Susan began to speak, to tell him that he didn't have to, if it was too hard, but he shook his head. "When my father…died, I waded up to her and asked her why, _why _he was gone and my uncle was in charge and I was all alone. She wouldn't answer. She is but mere stone, of course, and not alive, but in my grief-driven madness I fathomed that she was mocking me, withholding information to taunt me. I struck at her. Bruised my hands. The professor found me then, broken and bleeding…that was the beginning of our alliance. Our friendship. I never came back here again. She had abandoned me."

Susan waited.

"But then you showed up, so strong and beautiful and, and _queenlike_, that you reminded me of her instantly. I could barely keep my eyes off you that first day-"

"-I noticed-"

There. The smallest flicker of a smile. The hint of a crack. "I suppose you must have. I had to bring you back here tonight to clear this up, to bring back the memories. And also…" he spoke so low that Susan could hardly hear the words "I wanted to show you a part of me. Of who I was."

"Still are," she said gently, and touched his elbow. "You still are he."

Caspian jerked his head from side to side again. "I thought I could control myself. I thought it wouldn't be an issue. And then the moon on your form, the heat of your hand in mine, the scent of your hair when you stepped close to me- it was too much. I realized that I was my uncle, all over again, grabbing at you like a salivating dog to a slab of meat. And so I am sorry, and I will go now. I will not seek you out again." He made as if to leave. Susan caught and held his sleeve.

"No," she said, and then, louder: "No."

"My Queen, I must," he stated, though he did not move to depart again. In response Susan shifted her feet so that they were separated by a mere hand span's width.

"You're not going to _leave,_ now," she didn't know where the words were coming from, didn't know what deep well of emotion sprung forth from her lips. A vein had opened, and she wasn't entirely sure she wanted a bandage.

"Majesty…"

"Don't leave me!" Her voice rose to fever pitch, a slap on the quiet. Her fingers twisted in his tunic, seizing him, holding him fast. The part of her mind that kept her sensible seemed to have gone on temporary holiday.

"If that's what you want-"

"Don't go!"

"I won't." Hesitantly, gaze fixed on hers, Caspian reached out a hand and lifted free a lock of hair from her mass of curls. The glossy strands pooled in his palm, caressing the fine creases. Susan's breathing quickened.

"Excuse me?" The interrupting trill shattered them apart, the moment falling in pieces at their feet. Together they turned to see a young girl standing in the corridor to the courtyard, observing them with an expression of barely suppressed laughter. Queen Lucy the Valiant. Susan vaguely considered shooting her full of arrows before remembering that she had left her bow in her chamber.

Then she thought of how she must look, she and Caspian, framed in the archway, wrapped around each other like lovers...and she blushed. "Thank you, Caspian," she stammered, dropping a clumsy curtsey. It was as if her tongue had turned to lead. With a last frantic glance towards the Telmarine, she fled.

Lucy remained for a second longer, staring directly at the man in front of the fountain; and then she let out a single high, gleeful giggle and ran after her sister.


	7. Lucy's Update

**Okay, about the last chapter. I'm aware that it's entirely unrealistic for a crescent moon to provide enough light to see someone's expression or make it uncomfortable to open your eyes, but this is Narnia, people. As we know from LWW and PC (aka The Bible, Andrew Adamson Addition- all kowtow), unlikely places such as the interior of a wardrobe, the center of a dense forest at nighttime, and the bowels of an underground bunker are brightly and efficiently illuminated by hidden bulbs (no way one torch could light up that entire corridor) to provide an enjoyable viewing experience. Narnia=magic. I mean, c'mon people. Talking lions?**

Lucy's Update

"Well?" Peter perched on the edge of his seat, bouncing back and forth slightly in anxious anticipation. His head swiveled from side to side nervously.

"You look like a chickadee," Edmund informed him. The younger king placed a pitcher of bright-red punch and three metal goblets on the table, snagged from a passing tray. "Drink. I know it's not wine, but maybe it'll keep you acting like a- you're king, Peter, High King! Might want to stop jumping about like a possessed ostrich."

"High King Peter the _Magnificent_," Trumpkin corrected with a chuckle. He was seated two places to the right of the man in question, absentmindedly attacking the remains of a bread pudding with his spoon.

Peter ignored them both. "Lucy?"

"Breathe, Pete," Edmund nudged him. Peter sucked in an unnaturally large amount of air and blew it out windily, barely stopping himself from making a sarcastic comment. His focus immediately fixed back onto the thirteen-year-old in front of him.

She looked around at them for another minute, letting the tension build- Peter ground his teeth together- and then: "It was bad."

"Uh-oh." Edmund had caught sight of his brother's face. "How bad is _bad, _exactly?"

"Very. They were like this," Lucy held up her hands, prayer-style, a hair's breadth apart to indicate closeness. "And…" she paused dramatically again. Trumpkin caught her eye and hastily busied himself with his wine glass. "He was _holding_ her _hair._"

The two kings turned away, one scowling, the other rubbing his temples wearily. Trufflehunter, who occupied the seat between dwarf and man, shrugged in confusion. "What does that mean?"

"Basically," replied Peter through clenched teeth, "That- _Telmarine_ was about to start feeling up my sister."

"She didn't look upset about it," Lucy chirped.

"Not helping," Edmund told her.

"Besides," Lucy went on, regardless, "'feeling up' is a bit harsh. It didn't go that far."

"That's because you _interrupted_ them." Peter's voice had taken on the annoying tone of disciplining a rather stupid young child. "If you hadn't-"

"Nothing would have happened. Nothing as extreme," she added to Peter's snort of disbelief. "Give the man some credit. Aslan _did_ approve of him."

He floundered for a moment, gasping like a fish, and then snapped his mouth shut when he was unable to find a counter-argument. He grabbed a goblet and stared into it moodily, settling back into a nice, comfortable brood when Reepicheep unexpectedly leapt up next to his plate. "Eurgh!"

"Your majesty," the mouse said, bowing elegantly, "I feel as if it is my duty as your vassal to inform you of the happenings in the easternmost courtyard of your castle."

"I'm sorry, Reep, but he's already heard." Lucy's expression was apologetic, but Reepicheep merely smiled.

"I thought he might have, from you, Queen Lucy. However, as I hope you shall be glad to discover, I managed to arrive at the scene slightly before your highness and therefore may have a more complete version of events."

Peter perked up. "Will you tell us what they said?"

"A knight of Narnia," the mouse said stiffly, "would never eavesdrop upon their sovereigns." He sheathed his sword and stood at attention. The temperature in the room dropped several degrees.

"I'm sorry." He-who-had-offended looked down. "I'm a bit….I would never expect you to."

Reepicheep relaxed. "Of course not. And King Caspian talked about his childhood, and then quite a lot about being like Miraz-"

Trumpkin began to spit on the floor at the name, caught Trufflehunter's eye, and contented himself with a scornful exclamation.

"-and Queen Susan argued with him, and calmed him down, and all at once it was she who was hysterical…something about " 'don't go…'"

"If he breaks her heart, I'll kill him," Peter growled. Edmund rolled his eyes but remained silent.

"And that, I believe, is when Queen Lucy appeared." Reepicheep capped his recital with a bob in Lucy's direction, after which he sat down and reached for a crumb of Trumpkin's pudding.

Lucy nodded. "She called him 'Caspian.'"

"And I do recall him using the name 'Susan' quite a few times," Reepicheep said thoughtfully.

No one spoke for a solid minute, digesting what had been said, drawing their own conclusions. Edmund was the first to voice his opinion.

"It could have been worse," he said bracingly, clapping his brother on the shoulder. "Remember that naked elf from Ettinsmoor?"

A small groan escaped the High King as his forehead plummeted forward to meet the table.

**If any of you know how to correctly spell Narnian names, places, words, etc. please send me corrections.**


	8. Confrontation

**I apologize for the delay…I've got about a million things to do right now. And the end-of-the-movie scene just won't go right, dangit. I might have to just post it and get it over with because I can't seem to make it exactly how I want it.**

Confrontation

It was strange, the next morning. He would catch her gazing at him, head tilted thoughtfully; or she would catch him, and they would both look away, embarrassed.

"King Caspian, a moment?"

He glanced over his shoulder, carefully unsmiling; it was the High King Peter. The hope he had been trying not to feel threatened to pull his shoulders down with it as it fell upon the bare stones of the floor, but he dragged his spine straight. "Yes, highness?"

"Firstly, I would like to commend you upon your ascension to ruler of Narnia." The king stood with his arms loosely crossed behind him, feet planted shoulder-width apart. A steadying stance. Formal words. There was some other reason he was here.

"Thank you, your majesty." Caspian hesitated, thought, and went on. "But if I may be so bold as to ask, why have you made this a private conversation? Surely your felicitations- however gratefully received," he was quick to add, "could be stated in a banquet or some other more public place?"

King Peter started, frowned, and then chuckled. "I am sorry," he said. "Yes, congratulations could have been given somewhere less…deserted. "

Caspian couldn't believe his ears. This man was _apologizing_ to _him_?

"And as you quite easily guessed," the other went on, "I have a different purpose for seeking you out today." He grimaced. "May I speak plainly? You are of course welcome to the same courtesy, and you seem like one who appreciates conciseness."

Flattered, Caspian gave his consent, and the High King relaxed a quarter of a degree. "I am glad."

He paused. "It has come to my attention that you and, ah, my sister-"

_Uh-oh._

"-that you and she went off alone during the Coronation Ball. Now, I believe that you are an honest man, but she is my sister, not to mention High Queen, and-"

"Nothing happened." Curt, sharp, cold. Caspian's face hardened.

"I am aware of the fact. However-"

"You were spying?" Where was this coming from? How did he dare to be so impolite to the High King? And yet Caspian was angry, and more than that, afraid. Guilty. It crept into his tone and turned it harsh.

King Peter met his eyes squarely. "It's my responsibility to know what's going on with my people."

"Su- Queen Susan is one of _your _people? I am?" That was downright rude. Caspian knew, he could hear it, but he couldn't stop himself. "You would claim ownership over-"

"She is my sister!" Peter shouted, face red with rage; Caspian almost retreated. The other took a deep breath and when he spoke again, his voice was low, barely audible. Dangerous. "And I am your High King. You would do well to remember it."

Caspian's chest turned to ice. He had pushed the King beyond what was wise or even rational, more than one could expect an ordinary man to put up with. But to speak thusly to, as he had said, his High King…he shivered.

And yet…and yet somehow King Peter's face was softening, his jaw relaxing, the rigidness of his stance fading. He held up his index finger. _What was going on?_

"My sister," he repeated, and stepped forward. A lesser man would have been anxious, worried, scared even. "Are you _quite_ sure there was no…?"

"Absolutely." And in that moment, Caspian meant it.

Peter sighed heavily; his shoulders dropped almost imperceptibly, and he nodded once slowly. Caspian drew in his breath sharply, realizing something. Queen Lucy saw Narnia as a sibling to be played with, King Edmund as a friend to converse with, Susan as a child dear to her heart. But Peter…he was ever afraid that he had let his country down. He was human, and Caspian was being allowed to see; and more than that, he was closer in thought and mindset to Caspian than he had even considered. _I see part of myself in him, _Caspian thought, surprised. _Does he see some of him reflected in me? _He wasn't sure whether he wanted this to be true or not. So engrossed was he in the problem that he didn't notice the other King turning to leave until he felt a tap on his shoulder.

Peter was looking at him, unreadable. There was a moment of silence; and then he said, quietly, "Yell at authority, King Caspian, but gently, gently."

And then he left Caspian there, remembering the weight of night-smooth hair in his palm and puzzling over the words of a King.

**Grrr. My muse is being very nice and helping me immensely, but some of her words are apparently getting garbled in transfer. I've got everything but the phrasing. Sorry.**


	9. She's Gone: Narnia

**Okay, look. There's supposed to be another chapter between this one and the last one, but for the life of me I can't write that one or manage to fix this one. I'm fed up with myself and my psychotic schedule, so here's this one now. Please review, because the last chapter obviously wasn't that well received (except by Starbucks3894 and halogirl810...you guys are awesome) and I want to know what I can to better. Really. I'm experiencing major brain burnouts right about now, so any tip that you have would help immensely.**

She's Gone: Narnia

_ "No need to say goodbye…"_

Somehow he managed to remain standing, to look out over the crowd that had become a veil of Susan's face. His mouth moved. Sounds came out. He knew not what he said, or how he said it, but it did not matter; groups of Telmarines, small at first, and then larger as people gained confidence, entered the portal and disappeared into the unknown void. He remembered wishing dully that it would end.

At last, at eternity's end, the terrace had emptied. Most had gone through, no doubt planning to start anew where they would not be hated for generations just for the crimes of their forbearers. The few that had stayed behind slipped away into hidden corridors, shielding their faces from nonexistent rebuffs and imagined disappointment. _Cowards, _Caspian found himself thinking. He would have to watch them closely.

"Son of Adam." A heavy paw rested itself on his shoulder, pushing King Peter's sword into a gap between the stones. He glanced down at it listlessly. He had not realized he was still holding it, and laid it down delicately, wiping the dust from the ground beforehand to keep from marking the polished scabbard. Only when he had positioned the weapon just so did he look up into Aslan's face.

"Why?" His voice cracked, loud upon the stillness. "Surely she is not perfect in your eyes, for you sent her back. Teach her if you must. But this…"

"Understand, dear one, it was not an easy choice. It is never easy, though sometimes necessary, to cause pain to those we love." Lines of worry and sorrow writ themselves, unmistakable, across his noble brow. "It was the right decision, and I do not regret it, only the grief that has come because of it."

Certainly, he was correct. Aslan's work always had a meaning incomprehensible to all it contained, except for the great lion himself. Never had his words meant so much, been needed so desperately, reached down to the very core of his soul.

Caspian hated him for it.

"How could you?" He blurted, eyebrows meeting in a scowl. Pushing off, he sprang upright so that his head was above the lion's. "You knew what this would do to her, you admitted it yourself!" Aslan gazed back steadily, unblinking. This only angered Caspian more. "You have the audacity to speak to me of pain, of grief! You've given her a world back, and then ripped it away with no other thought but what you _believe_ is right! Well, I can tell you something, _Aslan,_" he spat, making the name a horrible mockery of itself. Later he would recollect and tremble that he had dared to say such things to one such as this King of Kings, but now the hurt and anger consumed him, drove him, blunted and blinded him. "You see nothing of what is true. You seek to simply pluck and choose, encouraging or tending particular people who you, and only you, have deemed _worthy._ There are a hundred ways how each of them could-"

"Stop!" The air grew dark; a chill stole through Caspian, freezing his angrily raised arm in place. He felt as if he had been plunged into a meltwater river, suddenly and without warning. Aslan seemed to swell, to grow until he was the one blotting out the sun, he with all the supremacy of an untold age. Caspian fell to his knees before his majesty, the brutal slap of the stones welcome relief from his almighty glare. _I've gone too far._ Terror gripped him, tearing through flesh with hooked claws. _Please, please, please don't hurt me!_

"You must cast away that which you hold most dear, lest it render you sightless from Earth's troubles." The voice, so terrible in its greatness, pressed down on every part of Caspian's will. But how could he? How could he let her go? It was not possible.

"Am I not yet broken enough?" He sobbed, nose to the dirtied floor before him. Spots of black appeared, each tear marking the dust with the finality of greatest loss. _Never again._

"Dear one," _He_ said, and the gentleness cut deeper than any knife. Aslan's power came not from rage, Caspian realized, but from the love in which he held all living creatures. Who could argue with such devotion? Who could resist worshiping him?

"Dear one," Aslan repeated, and Caspian lifted his chin. "You must take the horn you wear at your belt and release it over the mountain's side."

The Telmarine King lay there for a moment longer, gathering his strength; then, slowly, agonizingly, he dragged himself up again. Stooped like an old man, he grasped the horn and pulled it out, holding it tenderly in front of him. Aslan nodded. Staring firmly into his eyes, Caspian walked over to the ledge and held the horn out over it. He clenched his teeth once, then relaxed his head and loosened his fingers.

The horn did not move.

Again Caspian ordered his hand to release the horn; again he failed. The polished ivory squeaked slightly in his grip. He stared at it in astonishment, and then looked back nervously at the great lion. "Uh…I can't seem to…let go."

"Try, dear one."

So Caspian squeezed his eyes shut and, with his left hand, tried to pry the horn free. An image of Susan, trying to comfort him, rose unbidden in his mind, and he found himself clutching the instrument to his chest. "I'm sorry," he said. Aslan's gaze held immeasurable sadness. "I have failed, haven't I."

The lion sighed; for a moment, he looked elderly. "No, son of Adam. You have already passed your test. I do this to spare you the pain of what you cannot control."

"You can't mean…" He wasn't saying what he seemed. That was impossible.

"She has just been taken away- never to return- from the land she loves beyond all else. Her true home, if you will. From-"

"Me."

Aslan inclined his head. "Yes. She does not believe that doors still exist for her between the two worlds. She has closed her mind to the possibility, and there she has made a mistake."

Joy flared, hot and intoxicating, in Caspian's chest. "Then there _is_ a way I can see her in this…England?"

"No. You are needed here."

Despair. "I cannot go; she cannot stay. Would you have us separated forever?"

"There is another place."

He frowned, disbelieving. "How can there be?"

"The same way England is the layer hiding this world, my country is the mold from which Narnia is made. One has only to lift the veil. Traveling between is a difficult process, however, and should not be attempted lightly. It is harder the further one is from the source."

"So she must learn to simply _accept_ all of this?"

"Susan Pevensie already knows acceptance. Acceptance is not the lesson which she must study. No, what Susan Pevensie has yet to learn is not to lose hope."

"She has! She knows!"

"When her brother fought your uncle, did she think he would survive?"

"No, but-"

"When her sister could not find me and the battle raged on, did she dream you might prevail?"

"She-"

"When she stepped through that portal four hours past, did she consider that she might someday return?"

"That's beside the point!"

"No, son of Adam." The great lion padded up to Caspian. "That_ is_ the point. She had forsaken all hope for the future. Without hope, there can be no faith. And without faith…"

"…there can be no Narnia." Caspian took a deep breath, feeling the crisp, cool air sear his lungs. He squared his shoulders and lifted his head. "I shall wait for her."

"Do you understand?" Large liquid eyes flicked across his face, not searching, not demanding, but gravely inquiring.

"No," said Caspian, and looked down at the horn clenched in his fist. "But I'm beginning to."

**NOT THE END OF THE FANFIC. I PROMISE. THERE ARE MANY MORE SCENES I'M PLANNING.**


	10. She's Gone: England

**YA-DA!!!! Here it be. If I could only get those explanatory scenes done....sigh. They'll be here, never fear.**

**This is the Pevensies on the train leaving the portal from Narnia.**

She's Gone: England

_Betrayal._ _Hurt. Never again. _The three thoughts chattered through her brain with the rhythm of the train tracks, forming a chant. _Hurt, betrayal, never again. Hurt, betrayal, never again. Never again. Never again._

She'd laughed at Edmund's joke. Horrible. She was disgusted with herself.

_ Hurt, betrayal, never again._

The hard plastic of the chair stuck to her legs, hiking up her skirt. Susan wiggled a bit from side to side, trying to bring it back down. The man next to her frowned when she brushed against him, as if to scold her as one would a petulant child. She wondered if he ever considered how his own flesh, bulging across his seat and half of hers, annoyed those around _him. _It was doubtful. He reeked of month-old cabbage and cigarette smoke, the underarms of his suit strained and stained dark with perspiration. His face was clean-shaven and his hair combed, and his clothing was of good make; he was certainly not poor, but not rich enough or willing enough to pay for his own petrol. Edging as far away as she could, Susan tried to sneak into the place next to her without making it seem as if she were trying to put distance between herself and the self-righteous gorilla. She knew rationing was tough, but _really_…

A war with swords and axes instead of guns and planes invaded her mind, sketching itself colorful in her mind's eye. She shook her head sharply, tucked her hands behind her back to keep from grasping at a non-existent bow and arrow. Don't. Don't think about that.

_ Hurt, betrayal, never again._

That boy, that pestering, irritating boy who refused to leave her alone. He was trying to talk to Peter, trying to say something funny. Failing miserably. He was nothing like-

No. No. NO. A sob welled up in her throat before she could stop it, before she could think. She gasped at the stuffy, foul-smelling air. She couldn't break down in the middle of a subway train, she couldn't…

"Phyllis agrees with me, don't you, Phyllis?" He was speaking, a hundred miles away. Oh, what hideous noise must fall on her ears! But something stopped her mouth from delivering the cutting remark that would send him gone, gone, like she longed to be. Phyllis. He had called her Phyllis…a name she had invented to get rid of him. Maybe now, however, it could be her salvation…_Susan_ was a raw sore, a burning, bleeding wound, never to be healed. But Phyllis…she was a fresh start. She would never know what Susan had been. She would never remember. To Phyllis, that would be but a tight-shut door in someone else's house.

The dark-haired student lifted her head and set her shoulders, nodded to the boy. Phyllis' brother registered astonishment comically, mouth dropping open. She smiled. Phyllis reached over and picked up her bag, deliberately brushing against the boy's hand. For that was who Phyllis was. She did not know that a girl called Susan had once loved a man called-

_Never again. Never again. Never again._

**Guys, I promise fluff. Really, I do. But I need to put in my explanitory chapters...otherwise it won't make sense...? Please help keep me going.**


	11. Obligation

**Woo! 'Nother Caspian chappie!**

Obligation

Seven-and-forty possible brides had presented themselves to him in the past three years. Seven-and-forty ships, carriages, and wagons had left carrying the same, if now-offended, cargo that they had brought.

"Forty-seven." Glenstorm had planted himself in front of Caspian, arms crossed, tail twitching irritably. "That is quite a few suitors, even for a King of a land such as Narnia."

Caspian repressed the urge to cower in submission before the threatening form. _I'm glad he's on my side, _he thought, giving a mental bow to Aslan.

Glenstorm glared at the delay. Caspian cleared his throat. "Well, none of them have been quite…did you see that last one? Ridiculous. She wanted to gild the entire castle. Where exactly would the money come from for such a project? And furthermore, what purpose would it serve?"

The centaur did not loosen his stance. If anything, he intensified it. "One does not account for all, my King."

Shoulders slumping, Caspian sighed. "I know. I should stop feeling sorry for myself, shouldn't I."

"You_ must _take a wife, sire," Glenstorm's words were soft, but Caspian flinched away from them and all that they entailed. His captain saw and reached out a steadying arm to place on his lord's shoulder. "It does not have to be a love marriage. It can be purely political…but you need an heir. _Narnia_ needs an heir."

The wait was long for any response, and sign of comprehension. But at last Caspian gave a short, terse nod and Glenstorm stepped away.

"There is a woman coming today," the captain said. Now sorrow weighted down his voice, a sympathy and a grief that nothing could be done to diminish the pain of the King that stood before him. "Give her a chance, sire. It would be a well-connected match." Glenstorm had never been one to let his words trail off into the air, but the silence that followed was sharp and piercing. With a quick bow he exited, pulling the door quietly shut behind him.

The night was clear, and Caspian felt himself both agonizingly aware and strangely muffled, as if everywhere he stepped he met an invisible barrier through light and sound. He supposed that the girl proffered towards him might have been considered pleasing…if one liked hair of such a weak, pale color, or limbs so scrawny and twig-like that they would surely snap at even the suggestion of physical labor. Her chin was sharp, and her eyes, while they could not be called _dull_, lacked the sparkle of intelligence. She gazed around with ghostly slowness as she sat at his side, giving the unsettling impression that she was underwater. Caspian had to pinch himself several times to keep from remembering another wraith-like figure drifting behind a sheet of glassy ice. Far away and long ago, in another age of his life. He found that if he did not look at the girl, merely fixing his eyes at a point over her shoulder when courtesy dictated he speak to her, he could forget the resemblance and focus upon the thousands of little etiquettes that distracted him from-

The musicians finished a song. Caspian clapped for exactly the right amount of time, with exactly the right level of noise and with his hands exactly as they should be positioned.

He made his way to the darkened lawn afterwards, settling himself against a tree with that was not visible from any of the main windows. His fingers tugged at the knotted grass absentmindedly, tracing lines and random patterns in the earth. If he tilted his head upwards he could see stars between the leafy canopy above him, glistening distantly as the sounds from the revelry still taking place in the ballroom.

"Son of Adam." It should have been surprising, but it was not; as Caspian rose and knelt, he found that he had been waiting here for just this purpose. He stood and faced the great lion, calmness spreading over the turmoil and storms within him; it did not banish the chaos, but merely made it seem smaller, more manageable.

"Aslan."

"You do not dance, Son of Adam?" From any other, the question would have been a test; but from Aslan it was a stone to step on, to find one's way with.

"My heart has not the room for dancing." A moment of study; neither one pled and neither one offered aid. Both expressions were equally unreadable. Then:

"She who sat at your side today is a goodly child. I know her father." Aslan turned, stepping onto a small path leading through the garden. "Walk with me."

Caspian followed.

"What is your opinion of her?" The great lion continued, back still facing Caspian. The latter frowned.

"She's not…unsightly. But she's- she does not appear to feel one way or another upon the subject of palaces, wealth, Narnia, Earth...it's as if she thinks all if it slightly beneath her, and so she keeps herself removed."

"And what would you say to a marriage?"

"Marriage!" Caspian gagged; he stopped abruptly and did not move again until Aslan nudged his leg with a paw. When he resumed walking it was stumbling and unsteady. His revulsion at such an idea was so strong, so absolute that he could not find the words to express it.

"You knew that someday it would be necessary." Aslan's head nodded almost imperceptibly to the gait of his steps, his nose brushing lightly against this flower or that. He was at peace- Caspian marveled, but then, he was Aslan.

"But she's so cold, so-"

"Would it have been better if she was warm? Passionate? Full of life?" Caspian was silent. The lion took a deep breath, and when he spoke, it was with the heavy echo of understanding. "It is not her especially you do not like, Son of Adam."

Putting his hands up to his face, Caspian let his steps lag and swerve across the path. "I- I know. It's that she's not, not-"

"Not Susan."

A choked sob escaped Caspian's tight-clamped lips, containing all the anguish of the past years in the one short sound. Aslan halted and gestured that Caspian should step beside him. He did so.

"Place your hand on my back, Son of Adam." Mystified, Caspian nonetheless did as he was told. The instant his flesh touched the lion's fur he gasped, staggering slightly. Hundreds of tiny veins pulsed at the surface of the skin, underneath fur that seemed to crackle with energy. The skin was hot, hotter than a roaring fire, sand on a summer's day. He discovered three links of spine under the muscle; three whole worlds of miracles. He could feel the thrumming of the mighty heart, the reverberations along the great ribs as the lungs expanded and contracted. Narnia within, and Narnia without…Aslan's entire being was filled with the land and yet…he was more. It was dizzying, intoxicating. Head strangely light, Caspian seemed to float a few inches off the ground.

"What can you sense?"

"Everything." Wonder, awe. The Universe beneath his fingertips. It was too much, too much for a mere mortal. Caspian slowly withdrew his hand and tucked it in front of him, massaging it slightly- it seemed to be buzzing.

"That is who I am. And I can see that you will marry this daughter of Ramandu, and that the stars will dance with the sun on your wedding-day…for that is what must happen. That is what is right for Narnia."

_ But is it what is right for me?_ Caspian did not say the words aloud, but Aslan heard them anyway.

"You are the king. What is right for Narnia _is_ what is right for you," he admonished, sternness tempered with the sorrowful tenderness of a river that knew it must let itself split away, or be swallowed completely.

Caspian nodded.

Aslan padded ahead a few paces upon the path. He made no sound, bent no stalk or vine, and yet the earth seemed to shiver under his weight. It would remember that he had been there. "Farewell. I shall not pass this way again for a long time."

"Farewell."

And it was so.

**HOLY CHEEZE WHIZ that turned out different then I expected it to…sorry for the delay. My schedule was eating me alive…but the next updates shall come fast and furious (or at least I hope so) so *drops to knees* I beg of you, review! You've been so good about it already…please don't leave me here without so much as a dryad to keep me company! **

**(Not that I'd want a dryad. Annoying little bi- not gonna say that word. But really, they're so giggly and they're always dragging the poor little fauns away to…well, erm…yeah. Take my word for it. They're really not all they're cracked up to be.)**


	12. Beauty Queen

**Perhaps you're wondering why I took out the last chapter. Perhaps you see it clearly. IN ANY CASE, it's gone because it was completely OOC, at least for that part of the story…I wish it had happened, but it doesn't fit and so it's gone. I am planning on re-writing some sort of conversation in the same time period, after the White Witch fiasco, but not that. So a few chapters are going to be submitted out of order…sorry.**

**Okay. England. Some months after coming back from Narnia. Susan is still called "Susan" because the transformation to Phyllis is a mind game she's playing with herself.**

Beauty Queen

Lucy's eyes bulged. "What did you do to your _head_?"

"Nothing." Susan lifted a hand, rubbing the newly-shorn locks self-consciously. "I just wanted a change."

"It's shorter than _Peter's_!" The thirteen-year-old's fingers joined her older sister's on the nearly-bare scalp. "Wow!"

"What about Peter?" The eldest of the four Pevensies stepped into the hall from the kitchen, brushing the flour off his hands onto his pants. He froze when he caught sight of the girl in the doorway. "Woa, Su!"

"It's not like you've never seen a haircut before," Susan shot back at him, scowling. "Why is everyone making such a stupid big deal about it, anyway?"

"Because you loved that hair, Su." Edmund appeared over his brother's shoulder. "You were so proud of it. Remember, you used to spend hours with the nymphs-"

"Would you shut _up_?" A heeled foot stomped angrily to the tiled floor, making three siblings wince. "Look, it just got in the way, alright?" The flowered-canvas purse crashed to the floor with a loud clatter, spilling its contents out. Eyeliners, blush, powders, and mascara skipped under chairs and tables, some of them breaking open with puddles of pigment.

"You actually _wear_ all this?" Bending down, Edmund gingerly picked up a package of false nails with his thumb and forefinger. His expression reflected mild revulsion. "Since when?"

"Why do you care?" Susan snapped, snatching it back. She crouched down and scooped up the makeup handful by handful, cramming it roughly back into her bag. A cracked perfume bottle leaked all over her hands, staining them with the odor of rotting fruit. Lucy wrinkled her nose.

"That's disgusting."

"It is not!" She smeared the stuff over the back of her neck, sticking her chin out mulishly. Edmund pointedly glanced away; Peter glared and put a comforting arm around Lucy. "Susan, that's enough."

"You can't tell me what to do!" Her voice rose, high and shrieking. "You, you stand there turning up your nose at me, your sister, because you're _Peter_, always so_ good_ and _noble_ and _strong, _and you don't _care_ because you have that bloody foolish pointless thing called _faith_, and you think you know why Aslan-" Susan broke off, looking horrified; then she burst into tears and ran up the stairs to her room.

The silence that followed in the drafty hall was heavy. Their sister's muffled sobs could be heard from up above. Peter had hunched his shoulders, as if to fend off a blow; Lucy's hands were over her face, tears trickling through her fingers. Edmund sighed, scuffed the ruined tile with his toe, and went to fetch a broom.

***Groan* I'll get this all figured and written and chronological SOMEDAY…**


	13. Aftermath of the Witch

**Here it is…hopefully less confusing …? Sorry 'bout Hell Hath No Fury. Don't know WHAT I was thinking.**

Aftermath of the Witch: A Thing Not Easily Forgotten

_ You __**idiot.**__ You absolute __**fool. **_

_Packed dirt, pressed almost to stone from generations of refugees, scuffed under the soles of his boots. The sound was an itch upon his mind. Could nothing be soft here, quiet, easy? The clang-and-swish of battling swords rang through-_

_ Wait. That wasn't right. It should have been. But today…Caspian halted, frowning, and leaned against a wall. The bowl-curved sides of the tunnel jutted imperfections into his back, catching slightly in their roughness on his shirt. When he lifted a hand to pull himself free a jolt of pain ran up his arm. He drew the offending limb away from him slowly, squinting to examine it; a dark streak lay jagged across his palm. It glistened wetly in the flickering torchlight._

_ Strange. He had forgotten that detail with the remembrance of the rest. He had forgotten the cut even as his memory pulled him to dwell again and again to the ghostly hair, the cold arm that reached for him, reached for him. The eyes. Demons slavered behind those eyes. They writhed and burned as they knotted their quarry in ropes of eternal stone._

_ A single voice, garbled by echo and underground corridors, smote the air beside his ear. Caspian started, shook himself, and turned to face the rock wall that had been behind him. His forearms rested flat against it, leaving room to bang his forehead down between them. The hurt did not register. He closed his eyes. The voice sounded again, low and mournful, the tolling of a bell in the stillness before the thunderstorm. The words were still distorted, but the sentiment was clear enough; it sang a dirge._

Whatever they say is not enough, _Caspian thought bitterly. _People are dead. My people! I should have protected them…instead I betray them.

_The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. Cautiously he lifted his head, instinctively making his breathing shallower, more quiet. There was a rustle of fabric. The unmistakable creak of oiled leather. His mind flew to his sword… it lay beside the stone table where it had fallen from his hand. A stream of silent curses whirled around his head. The first rule of combat- never drop your weapon. He __**knew**__ that. _Fool!

_"What do you want?" The words came out harsher than he had intended. Caspian took a breath and it caught in his throat, frighteningly close to a sob. Weak. He was weak._

_ There was hesitation in the rasp of skin against cloth, the slight noise from the back of the throat. Whoever watched Caspian was waiting for something. The Prince clenched his teeth, suddenly impatient with this unnamed stranger. They intruded upon his grief. _

_ "Lucy thought," the person behind him began, and Caspian barely managed to restrain his leap of surprise. _Susan! _He revolved slowly upon the spot, only stopping when his entire body faced her form. What…why was she…?_

_ She held out a small bottle. He recognized it as the one Queen Lucy kept in the pouch at her waist, lovingly wrapped in a square of cloth. Of course! It was the miraculous cordial. How could he have forgotten? But then, he had never paid as much attention to the stories of that youngest Queen of the Golden Age._

_ The glass seemed to shift in Susan's hand, glittering sharply in the orange spaces between the shadows. The liquid inside was murky without the proper sun's illumination. It seemed as if it hid from him. He was not meant to taste it._

_ "Thank you," he said, melding it into one word with his abruptness. Caspian glanced from the cordial to the one who held it. "I mean, thank- thank her."_

_ A nod was his only reply. Susan stepped closer, unscrewing the top of the bottle; Caspian realized that she meant to dose him with it. He tried to retreat, recalling too late that he was against a wall; his head knocked against stone. He staggered._

_ "How hurt are you?" She sounded concerned…but warily so. She did not trust him…and well she shouldn't. Caspian swiftly straightened himself, moving up a hand's width. _

_ "Not…not at all. That is, nothing serious." He pushed the descending bottle away. "I do not need that. Save it."_

_ "That's very…noble of you." It was as if she chewed over each word before she let it pass her lips, weighing the effect it would have. Caspian chanced a peek up into her face. It was impossible to read._

_ Vast and wide was the pause between them. _

_ "Your majesty," Caspian said at last. He could not look directly at Susan, so instead he cast his eyes to the floor beside her left foot. A small cloud of dust puffed up as she shifted her stance. It seemed to hover in the air for a moment before settling back down. Making sure things were safe._

_ "I…about what happened in the…with the Witch, I am sorry, I am sor-"_

_ "Do not waste your apology." There was no softness in her tone. Caspian's gaze was surprised up to meet hers. She looked upon him without pity or forgiveness. Ungentle. _

_ "My Queen, I-" By itself, Caspian's mind began to think things bizarrely unrelated to the current tension…how delicate her skin was, how full her lips, how easy it would be to close the gap between them and his own. He swallowed._

_ "We cannot all be steadfast as the mighty oak." With one fluid movement, Susan slipped her bow from her shoulder; fear drove through Caspian for a split-second, but then she held it out to him. _

_ "Look well, Prince Caspian," she said. "My bow is wood, cut from a tree older than my grandfather's grandfather and seasoned for years before being fitted to its shape. The limb from whence it came grew from a trunk that would not let rain nor wind nor snow rip it from the earth. She was unfaltering, that tree…I know it because the dryads have told me so."_

_ Caspian drew his eyebrows together, confused. How did this connect to-_

_ Susan continued, running over his puzzlement. "But she knew how to sigh when nature beat upon her bark, threatened to uproot her. She negotiated, swayed a little, bent a bit. She was not a sword to snap under pressure…"_

_ And now the pieces all fell into place, like the workings of a clock._

_ "I preach to you because you must understand these things, Prince Caspian. And more, you must learn to use them…a King who does not listen until he is trampled is worse than no king at all." She caught the expression on Caspian's face. "Yes, this is a lesson Peter must learn as well. But it was not Peter my brother who let that circle be drawn."_

Caspian woke on the morn of his marriage day with his arms stretched out on the mattress before him, still reaching for her retreating outline.

**Probably I'll remove this one too. I'll get this right eventually…**

**Oh, and ya might have noticed that I'm using trees again. Yeah. There IS a reason...I really like trees, actually. I find them beautiful...useful for shade and apples, also. And Narnia trees are the awesomest things ever. As you can see, they even inspire the use of a non-word to describe them.**


	14. For King and Country

**Okay, I know this is the holiday season and all, but… I was planning to give this out as a Christmas present (Christmas because I celebrate it and because the Chronicles of Narnia are extremely Christian), but I'm posting it now because…well…I…want to?**

**A slightly different style in this one.**

For King and Country

He made decisions; he dressed himself; he ate and slept and drank. He functioned. Narnia, his people, became Caspian's entire world- he barely acknowledged his wife when she walked in the room, not even lifting his head from the papers spread all across his desk.

And he was a good king. Everyone from noble to commoner loved him, would die for him. He truly cared about them, and it was evident in the way he met their eyes when speaking to them, knelt to hear a child, offered a word to any who asked. Sometimes food or other such necessities would appear on a doorstep, quietly and without fanfare, of a family who was in particular trouble; it carried no crests to mark it as from the castle, but the quality of that which was given revealed it to have been made at court. Sometimes a young woman would press the wrappings of such presents between the pages of a book, or fold them and store them at the back of a cupboard; but life in Narnia was fine even for a peasant, and the girls soon forgot their fascination with the palace and nobility and concentrated on things that were real and tangible and important.

He did not rebuild Cair Paravel. When asked the reason, he replied that he was leaving it as a memorial for those that had died in the long and bloody years crushed in a Telmarine fist. Sometimes he could be seen alone in the center of the ruined hall, eyes closed, hands clasped loosely behind him. It was whispered that a man so swayed with emotion over the crimes of his fathers would be a King to love wholly, almost to worship. But they did not hear what he actually murmured to himself as he stood before the thrones of old.

His wife appeared with him at all public functions. But when he rode though the streets of the town, or out over the fields, he always rode alone. There was speculation that he had a hidden guard stationed in the woods, or a special and terrible weapon stashed in a pocket- for how else could he dare to traverse the land with impunity? In truth, the mouse Reepicheep insisted upon concealing himself in Caspian's saddlebags, but he was never needed upon the King's frequent forays into commoner lands.

When he was fifteen years old Prince Rillian began appearing alongside his father on these visits. He did not come every time, but frequently they could be seen, horses side-by side, surveying that which was around them with equally loving eyes. The prince resembled his mother entirely, with flaxen hair and small features; he seemed at all times slightly too thin, as if his body had forgotten to grow wider as it stretched taller. The contrast between the King and his heir was so striking that some wondered if the former had indeed sired the latter, and while this created quite a stir in the towns for a few years, it soon died down. He was a nice boy, Rillian was- everyone agreed to it. Strong and straight and true. It was unthinkable that he not take the throne after King Caspian. He could not possibly be a bastard son.

Some went so far as to say that it did not matter where he had come from. He would be a fine king, they argued. Already it had been proven that origin had nothing to do with proficiency- did not the mysterious Spare Oom had provide Narnia with four of the greatest rulers it had ever known?

Perhaps it was this period of high scrutiny that resulted in another general realization. King Caspian- there was no denying it- was sad. Eyes that had hardly dared look at him before now found that though he smiled and laughed and joked, there was ever something… subdued hidden behind his face, just under the skin. It was as if there was a part of him always thinking of something else, something outside of the moment. It set him apart, beyond the regular differences between ruler and subject.

Hundreds, thousands of speculations bounced from person to person, house to house, village to village. Their king heard, as gossip can hardly be hidden for long; but he did not become angry. He simply nodded his head, once, and turned to the field, a nation's fascinated gazes pinpricks on the back of a small dark blot disappearing over the horizon.

** Upon the use of the word "bastard": yes, I know, I know. Please let be explain. As you might- or might not**** (well, you probably do, but I figure I'll go ahead and cover my behind anyway)****- know, "bastard" technically means "a person born of unmarried parents." While this would (based on knowledge of Olde Englande) be an insult and a horrible position to be in for anyone living in Narnia, it is not necessarily used in the uninformed sense it is today. It is a derogatory term, certainly, but one with a **_**purpose.**_

**Cue the heroic music.**


	15. Absence

**Here we go. For the first part- before the italics- I recommend Annie Lennox's "Lost." It's the song in the middle.**

**Oh, and I'm aware that Susan's behavior would have been considered shocking to both her own English time and to Narnia. That's kind of the point…hope it comes off that way???**

Absence

Her brother and sister came back with eyes full of smile and mouths brimming with story. Peter listened and remembered, hunger for the land he had lost etched clearly into every pore of his face. He cheered and laughed and asked, and he was answered. Sometimes a tear would be seen glistening on his clean-shaven cheek; but it was always gone when one looked again.

Susan did not hear the tales. She stared at them that had returned, and as she stood there, fingers clenching, her face changed. Changed from surprise to worry to joy to jealousy, and then to nothing. A blank page. She slammed the door on her way out, plastered on pleasantness as she hopped into the car with her friends. She found a new boy and kissed it, let it put its hands on her waist, behind her neck. Maybe if she scraped hard enough, the memories would tear away and fly off into the cold night, like so many scraps of ragged cloth.

Maybe.

* * *

He was sad when the woman-he-did-not-love died. This surprised him. For a moment he was scared, frightened that he had betrayed Susan; but then he examined his emotions and found that it was not a profound sadness, merely a rather aimless one. There was something melancholy in the way that he had no one to hand him his spectacles when he needed to read a treaty; but that was all, and he thought no more of it.

* * *

**This is the sound of the planes in the night  
Coming out of the darkness  
And into the light  
Shining alarmingly  
Curiously bright**

**This is the sound of those murderous drums  
The marching of footsteps  
The twisting of thumbs  
Over and over  
Again here it comes**

**We're lost  
(baby come again don't let me fall)  
We're lost  
(baby come again despite it all)  
We're lost  
(baby come)  
(baby come)**

**Tell me the story  
'bout when you were young  
I want to hear it again  
Leave in the part  
Where the hero gets stung  
I want to savour it  
I want to play it again**

**This is the sound of a baby's first breath  
The dying of footsteps  
The touching of flesh  
To hold in your memory  
To keep by your chest**

**We're lost  
So lost  
Lost**

* * *

Susan dreamed. When she woke she would not recall, but in unshielded sleep haunts and spirits could converge…

_ "In here, your majesty, in here!" She was pulled forward, guided carefully up the short flight of stairs. Through her slippers, her toes felt the ridges and patterns carved into the stone surfaces. They pressed up against her feet with a familiar playfulness, teasing her to remember in what part of the palace they were situated- nearly every staircase in the castle had something chiseled out of it, and while no two steps were the same, it was difficult to distinguish between them using only the pad of a shod foot._

_ The swish of a door; sunlight blazed through her eyelids, warming her face and neck. She tilted her chin back luxuriously, enjoying how much more heightened her sense of touch was with the cutting off of her sight. No breath of wind blew against her cheek. She was still inside, then. Her fingers found the back of a chair; she started to sit in it and was met with the squawking of those who led her. Susan smiled gamely and rose again, holding out her wrist to be led. She trusted the women utterly._

_ She could feel her light frock being unlaced, slipping from her shoulders; she shrugged and the fabric puddled around her feet, covering them in a wave of soft folds. She stepped out of the dress, kicking it away, and allowed herself to be moved upwards once more- was she standing on a platform? Her arms were gently brought up, fingers pointing to the ceiling. _

_ Cool satin slipped over her head. Her skin was alive with goosebumps for a fraction of a moment- they faded as quickly as they had appeared. Heaviness hung from her hips, bulky about her legs. Unseen hands plucked at it, smoothed it. Something tugged at her back, and Susan sucked in her breath. That must be the lacings. A slight pressure at her wrists; the tying of cuffs._

_ A touch at the base of her spine, a minute turn of her body…and then everything was still._

_ "Open your eyes, Your Highness," a voice whispered. It sounded somewhat awed. Susan complied and blinked in the flood of light, of color, trying to get her vision back. The fuzziness melted away until she could see that she was in a sparse room, with a cut wood floor and pale green walls. A full-length mirror crafted in the shape of an oval stood before her on wrought-iron feet. And reflected in the glass…_

_ "Oh," she sighed. "It's lovely."_

_ The gown was cut of summer-sky-blue fabric, embroidered all over with sprigs of golden flower. Cream-white sleeves started off the shoulder and extended down to a puff below her elbow, cinched with two brass-colored bands for each upper arm. Ribbon of the same hue bordered the top of the bodice, running down the front and along the bottom hem. It would have reached the floor if Susan were not standing upon the small dressmaker's stool._

_ "I told you young ones liked surprises," one of the women muttered to another out of the corner of her mouth. Susan heard but did not react to it. She was too fixated upon the figure that shone before her. _

_ "Thank you." She had never possessed a costume so elegant, not even in the Golden Age. And yet the dress's glory did not seem to smother her…on the contrary, it made her seem more stately, more imperial. _If Caspian could see me now.

_"Thank _you_, Queen! It's a bit unfinished, to be sure, but it-"_

_ "It's perfect."_

_ The woman clucked, shaking her head, and began taking pins out of Susan's hair. The other two ladies began walking around Susan, adjusting the lay of the skirt, the length of the ties. They chattered together in easy familiarity, not exactly excluding their Queen from the conversation, but not making any special effort to prompt her speak. Susan let the geniality spread over her, embracing her in loving arms. All three seamstresses were short, squat, and grandmotherly, possessing white hair and as many wrinkles as a walnut. _The three mother hens, _Susan thought of them privately, and indeed they appeared to be. Fluttering and scolding and overfilling with gossip, ever poking their beaks into something or other._

_ They had descended upon her the day after the battle, all but dragging her off into the measuring room to begin curing what they referred to as "The deplorable state of Your Majesty's wardrobe!" Edmund had smirked and dropped sly comments about females and their clothing before Susan had turned the trio loose on him as well. Now Edmund had four new tunics and two sets of pants- Susan was unable to fathom how the ladies had managed to sew so much so fast- and Susan owned two other fresh-made gowns besides this one. She suspected that the seamstresses had an army of girls working for them hidden somewhere in the castle, but she never saw any but the three with her now._

_ At last her hair was curled, her slippers traded for new ones, her gown poked and prodded to the women's satisfaction. She was released from the room by the hens, who collapsed into their chairs with much exhausted sighing and fanning of bosoms. Susan barely managed to stifle a laugh at the spectacle._

_ She rushed through the halls, hurrying for no other reason than to feel the shiver of her skirts behind her and hear the delicious swish that they made when she turned a corner. Susan flew to a window and peered out, hanging her torso half-way over the sill. She felt alive and full of energy. This was how things were supposed to be. _

_ "Susan?" she made an effort to control her joy at hearing his voice. It would be entirely improper to, for instance, run at Caspian and squeeze the breath out of him in a jubilant hug. Still, when she turned around, she was grinning as she hadn't for years._

_ He was part of the way down the staircase, still dressed in a simple cotton shirt and breeches. _He must be just going up to change now, _Susan realized. His hair was uncombed and damp from his bath; Susan glanced away and plucked at her sleeve, suddenly shy._

_ "I…ah…um…" he seemed to be having trouble regaining the power of speech. Susan was perplexed for a moment- and then she remembered her new garment. Of course, it was the dress! She walked across the floor and stairs until they stood side-by-side, he and her. _

_ Caspian smiled. "I…I have something for you. I meant to give it to you after I had finished dressing, but fate, it appears, had a different idea." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a thin silver chain, holding it up for her to see. A single teardrop sapphire pendant dangled from a whorl of the polished metal, capturing the sun in its many facets and spangling a faint blue light across Caspian's nose. His eyes flicked anxiously over her face, reading her expression; Susan's cheeks grew warm at the attention._

_ "Thank you." She said, frantic happiness controlled now by the vast and rather intoxicating aura that radiated from Caspian's presence. Or perhaps it was her own traitorous perceptions that made her knees wobble? Whichever it was, she found herself stepping towards him, turning and lifting up her hair in the back. "Will you put it on for me?"_

_ "With pleasure." She ducked her head a bit as he lifted the necklace over it; his fingers spread heat where they touched the back of her neck, making the flesh tingle. His breath stirred the strands that had fallen from her hands beside her ear, tickling her slightly. The freshly-washed scent of him filled her nostrils, birthing thin, insubstantial thoughts that darted around the borders of her mind, dissolving and re-forming endlessly… _

_ She knew that they were both remembering the courtyard._

_ "Su-u-u-san!" _

_ She gave a startled jerk, snapping back to the present. Caspian and herself swiftly and simultaneously moved apart, arranging themselves in more public-worthy positions. He chuckled quietly, placing a foot on the next step up as if he had simply paused for a moment on his way up to his chamber- which, of course, he had. Susan's heart raced with the air of concealment._

_ Peter rounded the landing with a businesslike stride, left hand resting on the pommel of his sword as if to reassure himself that it was still there. He froze when he caught sight of the two of them, jaw dropping foolishly; then he tilted his head to the side, narrowing his eyes with suspicion. "Aslan told us to meet him today, in the pavilion by the terrace. That is where you were going now, I trust? Or had you forgotten?" His stare bored into her, giving her the uncomfortable feeling of a cornered squirrel._

_ "I'm coming." Susan began to follow her brother, and then hesitated, looking back at the newly crowned King. _

_ "Susan!"_

_ She touched her necklace once, then tore her gaze away and hastened out of sight. _

_She was not to know that it would be a more than a momentary appointment of courtesy for which she left, but a lengthy prowl of the palace with the mighty Lion. She was not to foresee that what that Lion said would cause her more agony than the deepest wound in battle- would drive the gaiety far, far from her as bright autumn leaf is to solemn, mist-shrouded mountain. She was not to be aware that somewhere in the sea of anger and hurt she would reach again from the gem around her neck, only to find it gone- and think that its shape had been so apt, so apt. Tears were what made up her body now, never to be spilled but to waterlog her movements and wash tender sores with stinging salt._

_ Behind, at the bottom of the stairs, a necklace marked a shining delicate thread against the dirt tracked in on shoe and boot. Caspian had not had time to fasten it properly._

**Last bit there with the **_**extremely annoying italics**_** was for fluff purposes (always a good cause) and because I knew you'd burn me alive if all I gave you for an update were those two paltry little pieces at the beginning.**

**And no, he didn't propose. Got you all hopeful there for a moment, eh? But they haven't known each other **_**that**_** long.**

**The three mother hens are my idea entirely, thank you very much. I know you all were **_**dying**_** to use them for your own stories. *snort* Not.**

**And now for the shameless soliciting: What'd you think of it? What? What? Tell me, please!**


	16. For Want of a Nail

'**Kay guys, second-to-last chapter, should all go according to plan (depends on if I want to break up the last one into 2). I want you all to know that, well, it's been crazy to write this thing, as surprising as that is (like when I found myself humming Tchaikovsky in the middle of math class…). Hope it kept you guys entertained at least.**

**Ah... should prob'ly explain the title. It's from one of my favorite poems, which also happens to be a nursery rhyme (what?) that shows how a little thing can make everything fall apart. Here:**

_**For want of a nail the shoe was lost**_

_**For want of a shoe the horse was lost**_

_**For want of a horse the rider was lost**_

_**For want of a rider the battle was lost**_

_**For want of a battle the kingdom was lost**_

_**And all for the want of a horseshoe nail.**_

**Read on, read on, read on do I cry...**

For Want of a Nail

A train crash. So simple, so brilliant.

So cruel.

She needed them, to remind her to keep living. To remind her that there was something to live for, that somewhere on this godforsaken planet there was happiness.

Gone.

The idea was too vast, the wound too raw. She could not understand, would not understand that she would never see them again, never hear their voices, never-

She supposed she should remember that she had her parents. Her parents. How were her parents? She hadn't thought of them in months. They had all but abandoned her in America, the land of strange accents and foreign patriotism. Where people peered at her curiously just for trying to buy a bag of crisps.

Besides, Helen and Jonathan Pevensie had never understood her, or the strange bond their children had wrapped tight around them in their time in the country. They had never realized how they needed each other, how much, how much. They had even taken her from them, and she remembered with self-loathing now, she had been eager to go.

For she had not been close to them. Not anymore. Not since the…the…

She had been as ice, forever separated from the warmth of a roaring fire by her own nature. If she had smiled, talked, made an effort, would she have been with them? Would she now also be…gone?

No. Not gone. Not nothing. It wasn't possible. How could three such bright sparks of light be extinguished so quickly? Peter…Edmund…Lucy. She whispered the names to herself, formed a chant that only she could hear, to wrap herself in and keep out the black despair. Peter, so fair, so noble, trying to hide his desperation to prove himself. Edmund, thin and dark, cloaked in a calm that settled over his shoulders naturally as a well-worn tunic. Lucy, ever sweet and ever kind, she of the dawn-lighted hair and the steadfast belief.

No…no…no! She covered her ears with her hands, childishly trying to escape the terrors that plagued her at night, that shrieked and cackled and slashed at her bare flesh. Anguish seeped into her nose and throat, chocking her, drowning her.

_Susan._

The word reverberated through the air, striking a chord deep within her. She gasped as a coil of warmth blossomed in her chest, a brazier against the chill of winter morning. First shaking, then hanging limply, she struggled against the pain with new strength and spirit. At times she would seem to be triumphant; but soon the misery would smother her again.

_Susan._

It was a voice from a forgotten time, a time linked inescapably and everlastingly with pain. Just to hear it brought a wave of agony so great that she could barely remain sitting upright; but she gripped it tightly to her even as it blistered her hands, for there was an edge of wild joy to the hurt that almost made it bearable. So she drank it in eagerly, thinking not, but feeling with every fiber of her body.

_Susan._

A Shape outlined itself before her tight-shut eyes, burning its image into her eyelids. As the fire pulsed every gold-streaked whisker was defined, every curl of mane sharp and clear and unable to doubt.

"Aslan," she breathed, and her eyes snapped open and the Shape solidified, and there before her the great lion stood in all his glory. She dropped to her knees and bowed her head, tears dripping down to stain the once-white collar clamped about her neck. She was ashamed.

"You have not done well, Daughter of Eve." He spoke and every syllable held equal parts kindness and disappointment, and all the more terrible for it. She trembled under his gaze.

"I…I am sorry…" her throat closed as she sobbed still harder.

"Sorry is a start. But it is not the cure, Daughter of Eve. Sorry is far from mending what you have broken."

"What…what must I do?"

"Think, dear one." The tone of the terrible voice lessened, somewhat, becoming more gentle and loving. "You know the way."

"But…my siblings…they're _gone_…" The word she had repeated all too often in her head had an awful finality when uttered aloud.

"Do you really believe that? Look into you heart, dear one, or you shall be lost."

And Susan looked. She sat and examined every fault, every vice, every shortcoming. Every pinprick of love and compassion and comfort. There was a moment, just at the very end, when she was fully aware of who she was and what she could become. Peter's hand pressed on her shoulder; Edmund sat next to her, leaning against her side; Lucy sat clasped in her arms. The figure of another man stood at a shaded angle, stooped and listening; but when she turned her head, there was only blank wall. They had all vanished, but maybe- maybe they weren't quite as absent as before.

"Dear one." The lion padded over and, with a massive paw, lifted her chin. He breathed on her face and she smelled crispness and clarity and the barest hint of flowers as she had not scented since her last, fateful trip beyond the gateway. "_Ahhh_," she sighed, and content wrapped her tenderly in its folds.

"Rise," he said, and she floated softly to her feet, the rustle of trees in spring. A curtain of light swept across her vision, brushing away the dingy room. "Rise and be free, Susan the Gentle, Queen of Narnia."

**Aslan's playing a much bigger part in this fic than I first envisioned. I 'pologize if he's OOC. Yeah, yeah, real king of Narnia and all that, but his dialogue is absolutely **_**hideous **_**to try to write.**

**Rather disappointed in this, actually. I wrote it pretty early on and I can't seem to make it go right, now.**


	17. Aslan's Country

**READ THIS FIRST!**

**EVEN IF YOU USUALLY SKIP THEM LIKE I DO!**

**Okay, ya might need some help here when a bunch of people are talking different people are thinking and it's all at once and it gets confusing. **

**When there is a long line of stuff in quotes in italics, that means that it's a quote from the book. **

**When there are things in parentheses within those italics, it's the thoughts of the person watching (aka Caspian in this scene). **

**Bold formatting is how I put emphasis on italicized words: I did this once after the bit with book quotes to distinguish it from the quotes. **

**All other italicized words are just emphasis. **

**You'll probably recognize the stuff from the book anyway, but I wanted to clear this up. Thanks.**

**Oh, and this isn't the last chapter (YAAAYYY! Well, I'm happy, anyway). I'm breaking it up because I can't read for more than about 5 pages on a computer screen without my eyeballs glazing over, even if it's the new installment in something really, really, really great…sad but true. Also I have to think more about the ending. Also I got really tired of not updating and so this is a rough copy but I need some input.**

**I had no idea what some people looked like so I invented their descriptions to suit my fancy, please don't be mad at me. Besides, Lewis wasn't into really, really detailed descriptions and every re-telling of his stories has changed someone's looks in some way, so…yeah.**

**This is what I've got; this may be the second-to-last or the third-to-last, depending. Wow. Way for me to make you wait, eh? Mwa-ha-ha-ha-ha. Okay, you can read the chapter now. I promise. Really. Go ahead! What are you waiting for?**

Aslan's Country

He had thought he had found peace here. He had been able to remember without grief, been able to analyze and examine his thoughts as they came. His small thatched hut offered him more comfort than any palace of his kinghood; his sword lay on hooks above the door, decoration, only taken down when the fancy for practice struck him. He listened to the birds and beasts that meandered though the rippling meadows, and they talked to him not for politeness but for genuine interest. He was poorer than he had ever been and yet possessed all the riches in the world. He was twenty again.

Caspian did not know if it was life or death in which he passed his time. A land of the living could never be so sweet, but if this were a place of the dead, would the undeniable hum of summer surround him? Things did not grow, exactly, here- but if one picked a ripe plum from a branch there was another to take its place when one looked again. And when he put his finger to his wrist or his neck there was a pulse.

So he existed (in whichever way) in this country of eternal sunlight (for while yea, there was night, it was not so black as it had been before) where he did not wait for her to arrive because he knew that someday she would, and his lack of doubt made him content.

But then.

Caspian heard them before he saw them, and before they even considered that he was there- they did, of course, not realize yet the way the air in Aslan's Country rippled and echoed sounds across it further than any other place before. Thinking to surprise them, he tiptoed up behind a willow and ducked underneath its leafy curtain. Now he stood tucked inside of a little pocket, a world-within-the-world. Chips of fresh, crisp-smelling foliage twirled lazily as he disturbed them, amiably shifting aside for him to pass. He parted the hanging strands almost imperceptibly and poked his nose out, squinting though the gap, laughter bubbling in his stomach as he predicted the happy confusion on their faces.

_"…Queen Susan?"_

A strange man stood in front of a cluster of becrowned others, assumedly the Kings and Queens of old and those two children who had joined him on the _Dawn Treader_. It was he who had just finished speaking. Caspian observed the delicately wrought silk and sumptuous brocade, and then looked down at his plain brown shirt and trousers, ashamed of them for the first time.

_"…is no longer a friend of Narnia." _It was a tall and imperial presence who spoke now, stepping forward; after a moment, Caspian recognized him as the High King Peter. He admired his regal air in the few seconds before his words registered. _Huh?_

_"Yes,"_ said another, thinner and dark-haired. _"and whenever you've tried to get her_ (Her? Her who?) _to come and talk about Narnia or do anything about Narnia, she says 'What wonderful memories you have! Fancy you still thinking about all those funny games we used to play when we were children.' "_

This was indeed an odd conversation. Not exactly the exuberance he had experienced when he had first arrived, but then, he didn't know where they had been before. Yes, that must be it. They must have just arrived from something very important. Caspian's gut grumbled anxiously. He ignored it.

_"Oh Susan!"_ (Susan?) said a woman with a voice that matched Jill's. _"She's interested in nothing nowadays except nylons_ (What?) _and lipstick and invitations._ _She always was a jolly sight too keen on being grown-up." _Ah, Caspian understood it now. It was a joke. The habit of the Golden Age Kings and Queens to insult each other in a sort of friendly contest had appalled him at first, before he knew what it was. This must be something of the sort.

A shorter, rounder queen in a gown of pale yellow came up to join Peter. _"Grown-up, indeed,"_

Where was Susan? Where was her laughing retort?

_"I wish she would grow up. She wasted all her school time wanting to be the age she is now, and she'll waste all the rest of her life trying to stay that age."_

The age she was now? Was she old? How many years had passed in her England? But no, she would be young again here, he was young again here. And he would love her whatever her condition.

_"Her whole idea is to race on to the silliest time of one's life as quick as she can and then stop there as long as she can."_

Where was Susan? There were eight people assembled upon the plain, the strange man and seven in jewels. He knew them now, remembered them from stories and his first life…Peter…Edmund…Lucy, Polly, Jill…Eustace, Digory Kirke, who he had always recalled with a smile for the especially strange name. He didn't smile now as he scanned their ranks again and again, becoming more and more agitated as this failed to reveal she for which he searched.

The entire group shook their heads sadly.

She wasn't there. They had been…had they been…_disowning_ her? No. They couldn't have been. Caspian let the strands of leaves that he had pulled apart fall loose, shivering slightly back and forth from momentum.

_"Well, don't let's talk about that now,"_ announced Peter at length._ "Look! Here are lovely fruit-trees. Let us taste them." _And so saying, he moved off, out of Caspian's sight. All those who were gathered followed him, passing close in front of Caspian's hiding place while they chattered gaily.

_**Fruit trees?**_

Their voices were light, happy, uninhibited by cares. Nausea rose behind his throat as he listened. They had just abandoned their sister, and they spoke of fruit trees? How could they? Had the trip addled their brains?

Angry strides took him far, far from the traitors. For once, he didn't stop to admire the staccato of birdsong, or the touch of freshness that tickled his nostrils. Instead, a furious blur obscured even his own feet, beating their own accelerando until he was not running but leaping, slamming down with a brutal _thump-thump _each time he met the ground. Every curse he knew was lavished upon those-who-had-betrayed her, and then turned inward to himself. For expecting her. For being so _sure_.

It wasn't fair. How should they dismiss her so easily? She had been all-forgiving, all-comforting. Yes, she could be irritated. But never that he had seen would she stay so for an inordinate amount of time, and she would never allow it to affect justice. She had loved her family, her country. And this was their repayment?

Something they had said troubled him. _"…lipstick and invitations." _Invitations? Had she…had…found…well…it was only natural. He had gotten _married. _What right had he to hold her to a standard that no longer applied, that hadn't had time to begin to apply? It was ridiculous.

So why did he want to burrow into a hole and hide? Why did his chest catch and his throat have to swallow a choke?

Caspian almost missed the sudden silence; such was the state he had been provoked into. At the last moment he looked up, head settling enough to be taken aback, and ducked behind the nearest cover; a knot of wild brambles. Despite the length of his stay in Aslan's Country, he still winced in anticipation of scratches that never came. The thorns politely moved out of his way, plainly asking him not to trample them, and arranged themselves in front of him so that he was further shielded from view. He thanked them, and turned back to the plain, curious. It took something very out of the ordinary to get these animals to quiet.

There was much shifting and rearranging before Caspian maneuvered himself into a position that was both comfortable and practical for spying. The brambles obligingly moved with him, making room wherever it was necessary. Finally he was sited acceptably. He peeped out the small break in the vines, sweeping the landscape for anything unusual- and then gasped, clamping his hands over his mouth and biting hard on the base of his left index finger to keep from shouting. The relative tranquility that had entered his veins with the time and distance he had put between himself and those cruel comments exploded, every facet of his mind clamoring for attention.

She was just as he had seen her last, just as he had remembered her countless times in his dreams…no. Better.

She looked around, face tilted up to the sky, turning slowly in disbelief; her hands dangled limply at her sides, fingers hanging loosely. The sun caught itself in her dark hair, gilding the edges with a fiery halo that spread across her form until her entire being seemed to glow from within, an image only furthered by the simple, blaze-colored frock that clung tight to her arms and waist but fell in loose folds to her ankles. For whole minutes she stood there, eyes closed, lips slightly parted, as if by sneaking a peek would make it all fade into blankness. She was so clean, so pure and new and full of wonder…the armor that had ever caged her emotions as a dull leather wrapping does a book of a thousand stories was gone, washed away on the wind. Her every thought was reflected upon her countenance, open and unashamed- from fear to doubt to tentative understanding, and then on to joyful recognition. Caspian's chest felt as if it would burst under the pressure of a heart full and rejoicing, even as he longed to hold her again. He almost then stepped from his hiding place, to reach out and touch her- but something stayed him.

How long they remained, both motionless, both exulting, she straight and tall with her shoulders at profile to he who was holding his breath…it cannot be said. The honeysuckle and sweet violets waved gently, and the bright birds chattered merrily about spring and tree-bark and nesting times. Castles rose and fell in the high kingdom of clouds above them, puffed mountains ever protecting those below. Grass still brushed with dew despite the early heat of the day bent pliable in the air, and whispered to the hills: _this is clear, and good_.

Then with a shout Susan flung her arms out to either side, embracing the world; her eyes flew open and she laughed loud and free, letting her feet dance upon the loose earth. Blue slippers flashed as they caught the light, pieces of sea skipping 'cross an emerald shore. A rabbit startled at the sight of her and dashed off to tremble behind a tuft of high wildflowers, striped purple and blue; Susan knelt and outstretched her palm, speaking in such a low, soothing voice that Caspian could not make out the words. After sufficient time coaxing and calmly imploring, the hare hopped uncertainly out, whiskers shivering as his nose twitched; Caspian suppressed a chuckle. Slowly, ever so slowly, the white-spotted animal inched closer until he was close enough for Susan to pet the side of his ears. He twitched his head to the side, questioning; and then, apparently deciding that she was not a threat, he settled down and began filling his stomach with the vegetation under his paws. Susan smiled and rose, grimacing and placing her hands on the small of her back and arching her spine as if dispelling a cramp.

Caspian took a deep breath and moved into the light.

He could tell the instant she saw him, for she froze, adopting the same frightened expression that had belonged to the rabbit not so long ago. Her arms came down, elbows locking at right angles to her belly. He raised his chin and let his eyes find hers.

And then she was running, running down to him, hair a dark stream behind her and sprays of greenery flung up where her feet hit the ground. She barreled into him with such force that he stumbled backwards, losing his footing and going sprawling with her on top of him. Their mouths met; she tasted of apple and mint and his hands found her waist and finally, finally, everything was back as it should be.

The kiss ended too soon, much too soon. But even here, in this country-of-perfection, air is needed- or, at least, one's body thinks that it is needed. Caspian considered what would happen if he stopped breathing altogether, right here, right now. Surely he could not die twice…he lifted a finger up to stroke Susan's cheek, and helped her stand, raising his eyebrows in anticipation to the question he was about to pose.

And suddenly she was bawling, sobbing into his shoulder, her arms folded between them. Utterly bemused, Caspian wrapped his arms around her and rocked her back and forth as one would a newborn, crooning softly. She was saying something, almost indiscernible between the choking gasps. Caspian bent his head closer, straining to hear; after some time he managed to pick out the words "_You're real, you're real, you're real," _repeated over and over again like a chant. He straightened again and was realized with surprise that his eyes were also leaking, shining droplets appearing like so many diamonds in Susan's tresses.

At length, they stopped crying; she drew back slightly and shook out her arms, as if she had just realized now that they were numb. Caspian noticed that his shirt was soaked with her tears, and took it off to dry on the grass. Susan blushed and looked away, fingers knitting in her lap; Caspian laughed that she could still be shy and, after a moment, she joined him. He went to her and encircled her again with his arms, and she relaxed into him again…it seemed she also felt the desperate, unbreakable yearning not to be apart.

They talked together, sometimes sitting, sometimes standing, sometimes leaning against the bark of a lush tree, surrounded by the scent of life and the cool of shade. Neither mentioned that which had passed since they had been apart. They would have time, eons and eons of time, to discuss it. And so he did not ask her, and nor did she him- They were both here now, and healed, and that was what mattered. Remembrances of the land now fallen filled their talk, anecdotes and stories to make one laugh. The wonder of a sun-ripened peach, the joy in the stride of a buck deer; all things of their conversation.

Even when the words had run out and dried out they made no move to find the Kings and Queens by the grove. Susan lay with her head on Caspian's bare chest, her raven hair spread out like a fan around her head. Caspian played with the locks absentmindedly and watched a coffee-colored bird wing its way lazily through the curved blue bowl of the sky. His toes were warmed in the light from above, heels resting softly on the cool earth; both sets of shoes had long since been removed and placed to the side Susan's slippers leaned against Caspian's boots, the tops of which folded down over them as if shielding them from an unseen danger.

Susan sighed and murmured something unintelligible, turning to her side and snuggling into him. Realizing that she must be asleep, Caspian gently shifted her off of him and stooped to pick her up, slipping his arms under her knees and shoulders. He settled her under a moss-covered rocky shelf, a hollow scooped out of the side of a hill as if by a giant's hand. She stirred slightly as he laid her down, fussing quietly; then she curled herself up into a ball and dropped back into a deeper calm, ribs rising and falling with the rhythm of her breathing. She would never have burned in the sun of Aslan's Country, Caspian knew; but some small part of him, born of a childhood with a mad family, was uneasy with the thought of sleeping out in the open. And he felt the desire to protect this one, his love, however unnecessarily. He squatted in front of her, surveying the landscape; satisfied that it was empty of threats, he sat back against the piled soil, plucking a few plump red berries from a nearby bush.

There was something deeply intimate about watching Susan slumber, the faces she made in dream, scrunching her nose and letting her pupils flick back and forth under her eyelids; something childlike and innocent. She was ever on guard when awake, ever calculating and vigilant, participating zealously in nearly everything. It was not the blurred whirlwind that surrounded a High Queen, discussions and laughter and a nation's decisions; nor was it the heavy, chilled, and frightening silence that cloaked her before a battle. No, just as in the meadow, the curtain had been swept back- but now not in a frenzy of joy but in complete, unassuming honesty. An all-encompassing purity that not even a babe could possess when conscious.

A figure appeared on the horizon, approaching quickly. Instantly Caspian leapt to alertness, half-standing, keeping his weight balanced on the balls of his feet. His emotions and thoughts warred within his head. He knew that there could never be any evil in this land. It was not possible. But a powerful anxiety rose up as he watched the dark being- whoever it was, whatever it was- stride towards them.

Closer…closer…closer…Caspian's thighs trembled with the effort of keeping his position, every sense on high alert. It had been…well, a long time since he had been required to do much physical labor. Everything came easy in Aslan's country. Caspian scowled and bit down on his tongue to keep his legs from collapsing under him. _Out of shape, _he thought, furious with himself. And then: _Today's not very much like heaven. It's too full of evil surprises._

The figure had approached far enough so as to be identifiable. Bile rose in Caspian's throat. _And here's another._

Edmund _-not a king, never a king, not anymore- _halted at the crest after another shallow dip in the land, shielding his eyes with his hand out of habit. Realizing this was now unnecessary, he dropped his arm and looked around interestedly; he fastened on Caspian's stooped form on his second pass around the landscape. Immediately he began walking toward him, energetic, _bouncy _even.

It made Caspian's teeth grate. How _dare_ he? But he straightened from his menacing posture, forcing his face to drop into the polite smile every monarch has to learn. All of his self-control went into staying where he was, waiting. Forever.

"Good day, fellow!" Edmund said cheerfully. The posh accent that would have once seemed kingly now showed tacky and foolish. "I see you've made it here, too?"

_No need patronize, dog. _"Indeed I have. Is it not wondrous beautiful?" _Two can play, it seems._

"Glorious so. You are well?"

"Of course. And you?" _May venomous snakes stab out your eyes and spit on your body._

"Better than I have felt in years." The radiant grin on Edmund's face displayed nothing but earnestness and purity. His luck was great that Caspian had not his knife about him, or he would soon have been sporting quite a different expression.

"That is most fortunate. Ah, may I recommend a swim? The lake is particularly nice." Caspian pointed to the gem- hued surface by the valley, feeling almost maniacal in his false happiness. "It is one of my favorites."

"That sounds delightful." Was this working? Was the brute going to leave, and Caspian could get Susan away from him and his-

"I say, is that a fire-flower?" To Caspian's dismay, and before he could stop him, Edmund bent close to the ground to peer at the splash of orange that Caspian knew, as dread stuck his soles to the ground, to be a fold of Susan's dress. He let his eyelids droop, examining and discarding workable getaway techniques that would be of use in a few seconds when-

"My _God!_" _That was expected. Would he believe that Susan had arrived here earlier and right now wanted to be left alone? _A powerful punch barreled into Caspian's jaw, snapping his neck around and making him stagger into the side of the hill. _That, however, was __**not**__ expected. What?_

"You _monster!_" Bleary for pain, Caspian blinked uncomprehending at Edmund. He had dropped to his knees beside his sister and was clamping his fists over her stomach, staring up at Caspian in evident horror. "What did you do to her?"

"What did I…what are you talking about?" What in the name of everything holy was going on here? Had Edmund gone _mad_?

"What am I…what do…I…"drops of spittle flew from the other's mouth, landing on Susan's face and neck. Unthinking, Caspian reached down to wipe them away and was greeted with another sound whack. Ears ringing, he retreated. The near-hysterical shouts cut wicked through the sunlight, awful and dirty and out of place. Shouts did not exist in a place so perfect as this. So why did he now yell?

Edmund, heedless of Caspian's confusion, was pinching the sides of Susan's dress and attempting to drag them over her torso. "Not fit to see," he muttered, and gasped anew at something else only he could perceive. Tears gathered at the corners of his eyes and washed his cheeks to burning. He pressed his left cuff over Susan's shoulder, keeping his right palm on her belly. "I'll get you safe, Su," he whispered, voice cracking. "Can you hear me? Su! Susan! Wake up, Su!" Violent sobs shuddered deep in his chest, shaking him from head to toe. "Susan," he wept.

From above Caspian watched the whole thing, brow wrinkled, trying, trying to understand. Surely Edmund would be glad to see his sister here? Why would he wail over her so uncontrollably, as if-

As if she was dead.

With a wordless cry, Caspian fell to the ground beside the other man, grabbing at Susan's wrist. _Please, Aslan, please no, she was just alive, she was just alive, don't…_he couldn't think the words.

For the third time, Edmund's fist connected with Caspian's skull. Instead of fighting it, Caspian rolled with the impact, spinning almost completely around so that his back slammed into the grass and his knees bent uncomfortably to the meadow. His vision flickered and dimmed, his lungs screaming. He wanted to curl himself up in a ball and close his arms over his head and lie still while the world stopped pounding.

But Susan.

Slowly, excruciatingly, he dragged himself sitting and with all the force he could muster shoved Edmund away from his sister's prone body. Ignoring the hammers against his brain he scooped Susan up and stood- _Carefully, carefully, don't drop her! Be gentle, man!_

Two steps were as far as he got before he felt the heel of a boot in his side, accompanied by the _crack! _of breaking bone. Breath drove ragged shards into his ribs but his fingers scrabbled frantic at Susan's neck, searching for a pulse, a pulse, anything, _Please. _

He was too shocked by everything to do more than stay, unmoving, with his elbow digging into the center of his hurt and concentrate on a minimal _inhale, exhale. _This was _Aslan's Country_. How could everything go so wrong?

**You hate me now.**

**I'll do my best to update soon, because this is my break and I've got time. **


	18. The Price of Betrayal

**Happy dance…happy dance…happy dance…**

The Price of Betrayal

A cadence of voices swelled and quieted around him, mimicking the terrain; the plains, the mountains, the sea. He let it. It soothed him, poured over his face, tangled in his hair. Muffled sounds were all they were to him, and muffled sounds held no threat. Silence was frightening, and focus deathly. To float on the edge of time was worth the hope of the world.

Yet the world, stubborn to the last, refused to give itself up. Caspian struggled to hold on to his confusion, but comprehension pressed down mercilessly on the sides of his mind and, in the end, he lost. The light was painful, so he closed his eyes; the fuzzed shapes that had swayed above him vanished. Inexplicably, this terrified him. He screamed and screamed until he figured out that his mouth was shut. Finally he remembered how to see again, and now ruthless clarity galloped in.

_Susan…her brother…dead. _Without considering the consequences, he flipped over to push himself standing, gritting his teeth too late at the agony of his ribs.

But the agony wasn't there. Bewildered, Caspian ran his palms over his injured flesh, trying to find the ripped skin and jagged, broken ends. None appeared. He frowned and looked down, but he was whole once again. This place had surprised him before, but never so greatly.

Shrugging, he marked it down as unfathomable and rose, stumbling a bit with vertigo as his blood rushed down to his legs. When he could walk without falling he turned and squinted at the picture in front of him.

She hadn't woken yet. His stomach heaved as his heart dropped past it, landing somewhere near his toes.

Almost obscured by clamoring bodies, Susan was stretched out peacefully, her arms resting at her sides. The grass seemed almost like glass, glistening and sharp; those were the two things he could see, really see, without dark blotches sullying the image with bloodstained blossoms. Susan and the grass. There was comfort in them, and Caspian found himself opening his hands, rising up to the tips of his toes, trying to catch something that couldn't be caught.

Wait. His brow wrinkled, and as he had been clinging to ignorance before, now he fought just as strongly for perception. How should the shell of his lover soothe him? Should he not be defeated, wailing, bawling? Tentatively, he lifted his fingers to his cheek. It was dry. He tried the other; again, no tears. Then he shook his head and saw through new eyes.

Peter, Edmund, and Lucy darted around above their sister, chattering excitedly as they bent and stood, supporting her neck, holding her wrists. Both Kings had removed their outer cloaks and tunics and had bunched them over Susan's belly, shoulder, and left shin.

This was…strange. Especially since, as Caspian craned his neck, he could see that Susan was _perfectly sound_. Relief made his knees weak. Her body was _fine_, chest rising and falling with the deep breaths of sleep. Minute movements of her feet and hands further certified that she was merely taking a nap. A very deep nap, as she had yet to awake; that was unusual, as she had always been a light sleeper, something Caspian could attest to from the many times she had caught him sneaking out of the How at night for fresh air. But the journey from England to Aslan's Country was sure to be an exhausting one. This was perfectly rational.

Nevertheless, Polly knelt at Susan's head, stroking through her hair with abrupt, shaky strokes. Off to the side, Jill and Eustace sat with their arms around each other, sobbing. Caspian would have thought it funny but for the strong sense of _wrongness_ that pervaded every pore of his flesh. Had he missed something? Some vital sign that revealed some mortal illness that Susan had fallen victim too? No, that wasn't right. He couldn't say why, but he was sure that Susan was absolutely healthy.

A high, mournful keen rose from Polly's throat, trailing in a thin stream over the wind. Sorrows of millennia flowed to either side of Caspian, silencing the trees and the just-stirring wildlife. Caspian was untouched. He was beginning to get angry. Couldn't they see Susan was well?

"Not breathing," Peter gasped, picking his head off of Susan's front. Lucy's fists flew up to cover her mouth, and she choked once, twice.

Then she leaned over and kissed Susan full on the lips.

_Well!_ Thought Caspian, rather alarmed. But no, he was mistaken; Lucy wasn't kissing her sister, he could see as the younger girl systematically blew her own exhale into Susan's lungs.

_That's very nice of her. Are they going to realize that she's alive now? _Were Caspian another, he might have stomped over and given all of them a good slap; as it was, it took all his self-control not to indulge in this fancy. He was debating the best way to point the group towards reality when Lucy glanced up, gave a little cry, and somersaulted across the backs of her brothers to bob a frantic curtsey.

_Aslan!_

Lucy was babbling something, half-mad, waving her arms wildly at the scene behind her. The others quickly drew back to show Susan to Aslan, unconsciously revealing Caspian in the process; he had, up until that point, been obscured by the upset. Aslan's all-seeing gaze fastened on him at once, resting for the smallest possible moment before sweeping down to the figure on the ground. He stayed there for a long time, unmoving.

"Aslan?" Peter asked tentatively. "Is there something…?" He was too frightened to finish the question, but the great lion answered it anyway.

"No, my son."

And now Polly began to wail in earnest, clawing at her chest with desperate hands. Lucy's eyes released a flood of tears and she fell to her knees. Peter surpassed her and collapsed, face to the grass, completely still.

Edmund bent and continued to nurse his sister, as if he had not heard Aslan's words. As for Digory, he sat, took Eustace on one knee and Jill on the other, and rocked them both gently. They all three had forgotten their new ages and airs. Despite their nearly identical physical maturity, they became a grandfather comforting his two grandchildren to all that looked on; Caspian, Aslan, and the trees.

At last Caspian could stand it no more. "Aslan," he said, going down on one knee. "I do not understand. Why do they weep? Their sister is well. I spoke to her, I held her. What do they see that I cannot?"

The lion padded to Caspian, making a path through the small crowd as they instinctively moved to give him room. Caspian was surprised: surely such a…surely _Aslan_ would not come to_ him_!

But Aslan's gaze held nothing but pride, pride for him, pride for Caspian. "My son," he said. "You have done more than I ever would have expected of you. Be at ease; yours is the reality, their vision only illusion."

Caspian bowed his head, the weights disappearing from his stomach and shoulders so fast that he felt giddy. "Thank you," he whispered. A large, furry muzzle pressed against his forehead and was gone.

Aslan turned. "Sons of Adam!" he thundered, and then, quieter: "Daughters of Eve." Everyone raised their eyes to his majestic form. "Your grief is admirable, dear ones, but it is misguided. Do not mourn what is not yet lost."

At this, a strange look passed over Digory's face, and he shook his head, saying softly "Impossible—impossible." Jill or Eustace should have heard him, but for Lucy's gasp of "Not yet—how?" at that same moment. Aslan had turned again to Caspian and did not answer her.

"Son of Adam," he said, "do you wish to know what these others see?"

Caspian swallowed. A second ago, he had been desperate to grasp the reason for the general turmoil. Now he had the gut-clenching feeling that he would be better off unaware. Squaring his shoulders, he met Aslan's gaze with all the confidence he could muster. "Show me," he said.

Aslan nodded. "Look to your love."

Trembling, Caspian obeyed. His eyes widened with horrified disbelief and then he was running, running to Susan, Susan who was dead.

Large gashes opened the flesh on her shoulder and calf, pools of dark spreading beneath them. Her stomach was rent open, soaking the now useless cloth that lay across it, staining the skirt of her gown with blood- that which was left of it. Shreds of fabric were all that clung to her frame now, concealing nothing. Countless other cuts and abrasions speckled her face, legs, and arms, each one bleeding freely; there was hardly an inch on her body that wasn't dyed garish with bruises. _No! _Caspian was hardly alert to the fact that he had taken her in his arms, pressing his own hands to a mark on her temple even as he recognized its futility. There was something in the back of his mind about Aslan, about words, but it was buried under anguish for Susan, Susan!

"Enough." White light suffused his vision. When it cleared he still clutched Susan to his chest, but his panic had fled and she was fit once more. Feeling rather stupid, he relaxed his arms, though he kept Susan within them still. Now he could remember the tendril of thought. _Yours is the reality, their vision only illusion. _Of course that hadn't been real. Aslan was only showing him what the others-

The others! So this was the reason they had been scurrying around like frightened ants! In his mind's eye, he saw Edmund pulling at the sides of his sister's dress. He had been trying to cover her up.

But why did she seem such a…there were no words sufficient. Why had Susan been a mess to everyone but himself, Caspian? Her siblings had known her longer. Wouldn't they be able to push aside the hallucination?

Those around Caspian were stirring, murmuring. Eustace gave a shout and jumped a full foot into the air, crashing down with a painful _thump. _Peter, who hadn't moved until this point, came crawling over to stroke Susan's cheek. "She lives," he croaked. His face turned up to the sky. "She lives!"

Caspian gathered that, as the apparition had left his own eyes, it had also been brushed from the others's. He looked wordlessly to Aslan for explanation. The great lion blinked at him, but it was to all that he spoke.

"I have mentioned that there is nothing I can do to help Queen Susan. This is true. It was not within my power to heal her; that task belonged to you, and only to you."

Shuffles and coughs.

"Know that my country is a land of truth. Betrayal is not tolerated here- indeed, it _can not_ be tolerated, as it goes against the very fabric of this world. Each time that you dismissed Susan, another small part of her died. You gave up on her; were it not for King Caspian, that which you have seen would have been fact and Queen Susan would truly be beyond even my reach."

Caspian's ears perked up. Him? What had he to do with-

"King Caspian did not abandon Susan as you did so heartlessly. He still held to him her hope and love, his knowledge of her goodness. You say I refused her; look to yourselves. You killed her long before you entered this land."

Polly was curled into a ball, shaking silently.

"When was kindness shown to Susan? Empathy? Compassion? You expected her to be as you were, saddened, but comfortable in your belief of return. Susan deceived you all. Her journey back to England at the end of her first reign wounded her more than she let any of you know. The second time, it broke her."

Wetness pricked the corners of Caspian's eyes. A lump formed in his throat. Had he but known…! But no, there was nothing he could have done. He ached to reverse the past and take Susan's pain away.

Aslan's voice had been kind, soothing. Now it turned cold, and Caspian was reminded that he was a lion, and a warrior. "And was she supported by her own, aided, consoled? No. She was met with careless words and annoyed sighs. When she failed to react the same as her siblings, none of which had endured what she had, they stopped trying and wrote her off as unsalvageable. So Susan retreated further back and back into herself, until she was but a shadow, a wisp of a thought. Even then she was not helped but left to herself. Left to starve, not for food, but for life."

Edmund looked down at his hands.

"Caspian did not see her dead because he alone had kept her in his heart. More than that is needed for you. You must redeem yourselves. Even should she grant you her forgiveness, and I shall not fault her if she withholds it, you must always know the shame of deserting one who loved you."

Caspian's head was splitting. He could not take in all of this. Instead, he put his lips to Susan's hair, both for her comfort and his sanity. She smiled and rolled slightly against him.

"Speak to your Queen now. I have kept her wrapped in sleep so that she be spared you and your hysteria. She wakes." Aslan breathed gently upon Susan's face and indeed, her eyelids fluttered and parted. She seemed unconcerned to see the great lion so close to her. Her mouth in a yawn and she stretched, brushing Aslan's nose with her fingers before placing the arm attached around Caspian's waist.

"Hello," she murmured sleepily.

"Susan?" It was not, as Caspian had expected, one of her siblings who spoke. Digory approached and knelt at Susan's feet, fists clenched nervously. Caspian helped Susan to stand.

"Yes?" She looked rather bemused.

"I…" he was having trouble getting the words out; Caspian suspected that Digory, like himself, felt ready to cry. "I am sorry, my Queen, for…for everything. I was cruel and unkind and…I…beg you to pardon me, though I know what I have done inexcusable."

Susan frowned. Digory, taking this for a refusal, began to shiver, but Caspian recognized it as confusion. "Aslan told us everything," he whispered in her ear, hands on her arms. "He is pleading that you forgive him his actions after you returned to England after my time."

Perhaps realizing what he was saying, Edmund also dropped to his knees. Peter followed, and soon every person facing Susan on the green had their foreheads pressed to the ground, quaking.

Worried, Caspian looked to see if Susan was disturbed by this; she had assumed her best queenly expression. Only Caspian could feel her muscles tense as she fought to stay in control, fought to find the right way to deal with this.

"No," she said. She licked her lips. "I…I can't forgive you, it isn't…"

Digory slumped began crawling away. Susan fell to the ground and grasped his right foot. "Please!" She had dropped her façade of royal manner and her anguish was written plainly upon her face. "I can't…Professor…you're my_ family_, all of you! Don't…_do _that! You know you don't have to…_beg_! Please get up, everyone! I forgive you, alright? I forgive you!" Caspian rubbed her shoulders, trying to calm her, doing his best to conceal his own panic.

Bawling, Digory stumbled to his feet- Susan braced him- and hugged her tightly. He walked to fill the space beside her that Caspian had not taken, flanking her. The three of them formed a triangle that pointed firmly into the scattered pack before them, Aslan at their side, the epitome of strength and righteousness. Then suddenly it was a hubbub again, everyone equal, chattering to each other, to Susan, all around her, sharing news, thoughts, feelings. She grinned and joined in, finally at ease. They grasped each other's hands and kissed each other's cheeks, all together, all a family again. Caspian was pounded on the back and laughed, punching Edmund boyishly in turn.

It was Lucy, predictably enough, who remembered the one standing apart.

"Aslan!"

They all flung themselves to the ground at his paws. All but…all but Susan. Caspian risked a glance her way: she still stood, weight shifted slightly to one side, just as he had left her. She was looking at Aslan with an unreadable expression on her face. And he was looking impassively back.

"Susan!" Lucy's whisper was panicked, horrified. "Susan! What are you doing! Bow!"

"No," Susan said quietly. She was still happy, but the boisterousness of the minute before had been replaced with clean serenity.

As one, the prostrate figures gasped. "What?"

"No," Susan repeated. Aslan remained silent. Caspian could feel his heart rate, which had begun to slow at Susan's tranquility, pick up again.

"But why, Su? If this is one of your points-"

"I will not bow," Susan said, not to Lucy but to the great lion before her. "Because you do not want it."

"_Susan_!"

"I did not wish to be High Queen, in my time," continued Susan as if there had been no interruption. "Once I understood what it meant. I did not enjoy the weight of responsibility, of holding a nation of lives in my hands. I wanted friends; I received subjects. They were kindly, and wonderful, but they were not friends because they were not my equals."

_Was she really so arrogant as to think herself better than everyone else?_

"Do not misunderstand me; I wished them to be. But nothing would I let poison the future of Narnia. If I were to act as I do with my siblings with those of lesser political standing than me, then they would be flattered, as true friends are not- to a true friend, it is something that is undoubtable, and so it is taken rather for granted. Should I become a friend to a serving girl? She would sigh and simper and boast. She would be envied; envy breeds hatred; hatred topples nations. Even a passing lord would have this problem, and he would fathom the implications as only one who has done this to others would know. Should I rend my country apart? No. I could not.

"And as it was mine to protect, and to love, with my siblings, I had a duty. Duty before heart for a ruler. That is how it must be. I did not want it, but I took it, and found happiness as best I could. I did enjoy myself; that much, at least, I have not failed in."

And now Caspian could appreciate Susan's reaction when Digory had begged for her forgiveness. She had thought that the one diminutive group of people that she could truly talk to, laugh with, let herself relax with was going to become just another crowd of faceless worshippers, respectful, distant.

"And so I knew this, and held it close to me, so close I could not see it. And when you came to me, dear Aslan, and you saved me, and helped me find myself; that was love. And when I looked into your eyes I saw reflected back at me this love, and this feeling that I had had, that I still have, for a family and not a follower. You are my father; I will be your daughter; I cannot be different, for this is what we are. And so I do not bow."

Aslan gazed at her, and did not speak.

"Father," said Susan after a pause, and her voice did tremble a bit, "Father, I hope you are not angry with me. I will lay my head on your shoulder and beseech your blessing, but please, I cannot longer be what I am not."

Aslan blinked once, and then gave a shake of his mighty head. "Daughter," he answered, rough with emotion, "you have given me more than you will ever know."

And now Susan did move. She ran to him and flung her arms around his neck; and Lucy leapt up to join her, wrestling Aslan with her, tussling in the dirt. Then Edmund dove in, and after him Peter. Finally, tentatively, Caspian crept up and gingerly poked a finger into the fray. With a shout, a hand grabbed his wrist and he was yanked flying; he landed, whooping in surprise and delight, right on top of the pile.

He had Susan; she had him; and there were siblings to play with, horses to chase, forests to walk through. Aslan, water, and, yes, even fruit trees.

The world made sense again.

**Not the last…hehehe! Bit rough around the edges, yes, but if I don't post this now it'll never get posted. **

**And, um, hey, guys? *scuffs toe* Please review. Those of you that have been, you're the best. Those of you that just read, I'm glad you do, but you know how it is…reviews=happiness=more writing. **

**Wow. Nine pages. Again. Sorry 'bout them eyes.**


	19. Back to the Beginning

**SO.**

**I've gone back and done a little patching-up of the previous chapters, something which was extremely tedious and frustrating and I had originally written a lengthy AN about exactly how tedious and frustrating it was, but that got to be upwards of a page so I have decided to spare you the torture and get on with the story.**

**Oh, and in my Health class we were doing "relaxation techniques" and the teacher played this video: .com/watch?v=MtqeomC_0ko. It just struck me as how a normal day in Aslan's country would sound if it had background music (hey, everything else in Narnia has background music, shouldn't AC too?)**

**Oh, and a definition****: ****_Mi cielo_ is Spanish for "my sky" or "my heaven."**

Back to the Beginning

Aslan's Country.

Morning.

A thin glow of light cracked the edge of the world, orange and soft. The perennial summer grass yawned and waved its blades in the air, water droplets sweet and young nestled in their creases. On the breeze, Susan could scent pine and snow from the mountains.

Her husband came up behind her and threaded his arms though hers, wrapping them about her waist. He bent to place a quiet kiss on her shoulder and buried his nose in the loose knot at the back of her neck. He was always saying that he liked the way her hair smelled best of all.

She turned slightly so that she could lay her head against his him, though she kept her gaze out over the hills. They did not need to see each other to be comfortable in one another's company, to feel safe and loved. Being together, that was the important thing. Sometimes, they would both close their eyes and keep them shut for a day, exploring and rejoicing in the way every other sense seemed heightened and rich; they would learn to tell from the echo of the earth and the heaviness of the air where the other was, and laugh when this succeeded, laugh when it failed and resulted in an ungraceful tangle of bodies.

They had not forgotten the others that were here; that would be impossible. But of the group it had been only these two whom had remained with each other. Slowly, one at a time, the rest had dissipated across the vast reserves of this land-of-dreams, finding every one of them their own true home. The most notable three had scattered themselves the furthest; Lucy, to no one's surprise, had chosen a lush, sunny forest tucked inside of a valley; Edmund, to everyone's, had set up camp in the middle of a desert. He gave no satisfactory explanation for having done so- enjoying, no doubt, the frustrated confusion of his siblings- and should he be sighted alone in his sandy terrain, his face, the steady actions of his hands revealed a happiness far greater than the expected peace of Aslan's paradise. Peter had settled himself at the edge of a spectacular mountain lake and spent his days, so he claimed, hiking, swimming, and climbing up rocks.

Susan and Caspian had taken the plain upon whose edge they had been reunited. None had begrudged them the site, nor seemed especially amazed that they would be sharing it, though Peter had raised his eyebrows when Caspian showed him the one small cabin. Susan could feel a reverberation inside her bones each time she looked out upon the rippling ocean of green. She would lie down against the cool earth and follow the sun's path through the sky, falling into a delicious half-doze as she let her mind float free. Flowers filled her skirt every time she returned, pouring petals finer than silk and all the more beautiful along the modest porch; she would wake to pastel fragrance and murmuring blossoms.

Caspian might have teased her but for his fascination with the wild horses that shone brighter than oiled wood in the daylight. He would find a comfortable spot and for hours watch them as they galloped, manes and tails tangled ribbons on the wind, or ambled along, unconcerned, basking in the golden rays just as he was. In the beginning, he would search the noble herds for Destrier, but now he was content simply to observe.

There were reasons beyond these, lighter and more trifling, deeper and more weighty. Each individual had become both more childish and more adult, and the one of them combined had achieved the point of never being able to achieve everything. It was where they belonged, this place, and they knew it.

All of which made Susan's current thoughts inconceivable.

Sighing, she turned at last to face the man against whom she had been resting, reaching a hand up to brush lightly across his cheek. She marveled at the tremendous good fortune that allowed her to touch this love of hers, this _Caspian. _Not a day went by where she didn't give thanks to the fates, to the winds, to Aslan that she could. He was her emotions; she, his reason.

Caspian smiled. "What is it, _mi cielo_?" It was an endearment he used only for her. The lilting tones of the different language added substance, a secret whispered in the night. Susan felt her heart warm and lighten as it always did when he addressed her thus, realizing by way of un-wrinkling her brow that she had been frowning. Entirely aware that he had uttered the words for precisely that purpose, she nevertheless let herself be pulled towards a brighter state of mind. _Husbands, _she mused, _are addicting. _If she didn't keep a close hold on herself she was afraid she'd rise up and fly away. With Caspian, everything was blurry in its sharpness.

"I was…thinking."

"I could tell." He tapped her right temple lightly with his forefinger. "Your eyes are veiled today. What is it that goes on behind them?"

Instead of answering, Susan snuggled herself into his chest.

"You're ignoring the question," Caspian murmured, lips to her forehead.

_Darn. _Wrinkling her nose, she pulled back and squinted up at him. He laughed. "If my wife could fool me with _that, _my dear, then I'm more hopeless than I thought."

_Husband. Wife. _Those terms again, used carelessly and casually, natural. Susan wondered at it for the first time. There was no marriage in Aslan's Country- the concept did not exist. Yet they had known each other as such from the moment their eyes met on the meadow. It had not been possible to question. It simply _was_.

Susan looked out again over the plain, suddenly feeling as if she were about to cry. How could she even consider this? Ungrateful, that's what she was, spoiled and grabbing for sweets. Her time here - _their _time- had been wonderful, rapture. Narnia by comparison was agony. Sometimes, the bliss would overwhelm her and she would have to become transfixed with little things to keep herself sane. The sound of her feet as they hit the rough wooden floor-boards, the strong line of Caspian's jaw. Things so beautiful they made her ache.

But, and it was impossible, but-

She was bored.

Each day was fresh and clean and as gorgeous as the last. Everything was so, so _perfect. _She felt almost dirty for thinking it, but once in a while she wanted a flaw. A bruised knee, perhaps, or a rainy day- it needn't be anything too large. Even as she considered this, she winced at her presumption to order the size of her troubles. She had been given an existence without pain. That should be, _had_ to be, more than enough.

Yet it wasn't. Her fist clenched tightly against the railing, digging in so hard that, in another world, she would have had to endure splinters. A tanned hand appeared over her knuckles, gently pulling apart her fingers. She stared at it, forgetting for a moment why it would be there, and then becoming sidetracked with her own skin; it was as pale as it had been back in England, despite the fact that every day here had been sunny. She had always been prone to sunburn and freckles. Neither were apparent. How had she not seen this before?

Half-lost in contemplation, she flipped Caspian's hand over so that his palm faced up into the lightening sky. The pads of her fingertips traced the contours and creases. Exactly the same. Surprisingly, the calluses had not disappeared from disuse of his sword- in fact, they hadn't' so much as softened. Lines of thought wrinkled her forehead.

"You noticed." Caspian lay his other hand down, pressing hers between his own.

"I don't understand," she said, drawing each word carefully through her teeth as if that would find the answer. "That is, I feel as if I should understand, and as if the understanding is right behind my tongue, but I can't seem to…reach it."

"I think…I don't think we're alive, here. Or maybe we're alive here but we're not everywhere else. Something that is…not alive wouldn't change."

The word hung between them. _Dead. _It was not an Aslan's Country word.

"They can rot." Susan closed her eyes at Caspian's sharp intake of breath. "I mean…I'm sorry. I don't mean to be so depressing. I just feel…" There wasn't a way to describe this. "For the sake of discussion, maybe it's best to follow your second thought. We are alive here." The rest could go unsaid.

"We _act_ alive." Caspian's chin briefly touched the top of her head: he had nodded. "We think. We figure. We learn."

"We do."

"Our _minds _change," continued Caspian, gathering steam. "Therefore we have to be."

_In a corner, Susan sobbed. Gone._

"The constant parts can be attributed to this Country. When you went back through the wardrobe, your minds retained your experience, but your bodies reverted back to-" Susan stiffened. "Have I upset you?"

"No, it's not that. It's…" They had believed it was possible to leave Narnia that first time because they had known that there was a way in- and the second time, coming back, they (she thought of her siblings now: "they" in the time before Caspian did not, of course, include him, as he had not been heard of yet) had held- Lucy most of all- that there must, somehow, be a door to return; also because they had known of one before. Did the same principle apply here?

"What is it?"

She explained. Caspian mumbled something and walked his fingers up her arm; Susan could picture his eyebrows pulling together. "A door," he said at last. "There _was _a door."

"The one that Peter locked."

"Yes, the one we all came in to- "

"_You_ went through the door?"

"Of course. Didn't- wait." Caspian's hand drew back. Susan glanced over her shoulder; he was running it through his hair. "Peter locked it before you arrived. How did you get here, then?"

"I thought I'd told you. Aslan-"

"Aslan!" It was a fervent whisper. "But then, that makes sense."

"Caspian, if you don't explain right now what…oh." _Obviously. _"I didn't go through the door. I couldn't. But I didn't have to, because I followed Aslan and he-"

"Doesn't need one. It won't work."

The last words were businesslike and final. It took a few seconds for Susan to shift to the new thread of conversation. "Because I didn't enter that way? I don't know. It's worth a try."

"Not this one." For some reason his voice had turned terse.

"Maybe with both of us-"

"No!"

It was as if he'd slapped her. Susan jerked away. There was only the sound of his breathing- the birds had stopped singing. His breathing compressed her on all sides, a box, suffocating. She was holding her breath.

"Susan-" he gritted his teeth. "Susan, I told you, I have been to the door."

"Yes."

He spun her around to face him, properly. "Please, trust me in this. It would not be good to go there."

She could feel her expression soften. "I never doubted you. But I cannot abandon a possibility."

To her growing discomfort, Caspian knelt before her, clasping her hands tightly. "The Wooden Door is not like the rest of Aslan's Country," he said, so softly Susan had to bend low to hear him. "Susan…it is pain."

A gasp escaped before she could stifle it. _Pain doesn't belong here_. The edges of his eyes and mouth became strained. "Susan, I will not put you through pain. We will find another way."

"I am not defenseless. If it is a way to get out-"

"No!" he repeated, with more vehemence than before. He took a deep breath and ran his thumbs over her wrists. "Susan, you know I do not hide things from you. We cannot exit that way. Please."

His tone told her not to question. Queries rose in her stomach and throat like discontented mice, scrabbling, insistent. She swallowed them and went to her knees, also. "Then we will find a different door."

"Thank you." They stood together.

Something occurred to Susan, that she hadn't realized before. "Wait. Just now- those weren't Aslan's Country emotions."

"No…" His brow furrowed.

"How is that possible?"

Silence.

"Do you remember how it felt, right before you…passed?"

_Died._

"Before the end? I was-" he frowned. "Happy."

"Happy?"

"Wildly so. It was as if every bit of joy that I'd ever felt in my life had come back to me for that one moment. And then I was here."

"So perhaps the happiness is a key!"

He shook his head. "How can it be? We've been happy, here, many times. All the time. We've never gone through to another world."

Susan's lips tightened into a white line.

"Unless…" Caspian scratched the side of his neck. "Maybe it doesn't matter what the emotion is, as long as it's strong enough."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, when you came here, what did you feel?"

"Forgiveness." She lowered her gaze to her feet, thinking. "Faith."

"Was-"

"Very strongly, each. And Lucy and Edmund and Pete- a train crash- " she took rather longer than normal for her next blink "-that must have been terror."

"And Eustace and Jill and Tirian- desperation, despair."

"What about the others?"

"I never asked. But it must have been of an equal level."

"All we have to do is work ourselves up and…" Her eyebrows lifted. "Caspian, I'd never thought of this, but when my siblings first saw me here, that wasn't, ah, _mild _either."

His mouth opened in surprise and comprehension. "The shouting and screaming and- everything."

"If emotion opens the way, then it stands to reason that some emotion could follow us through."

"So we either get _ourselves_ angry, or overjoyed, or another frenzy, or we find a place where we already _are_ emotional, because of the passage. New people must come through reasonably often. He said the door was closed but _you _came after… Aslan's Country is vast. I cannot imagine Aslan turning away any who are not evil, even if this land were small."

Susan halted mid-stride; she hadn't remembered beginning to pace, but she had been. "Why haven't we seen any of them, then? The newcomers?"

Caspian shrugged. "I don't know. Why haven't we aged? Why don't the trees seem to mind that our house is made of wood? It's a part of the mystery." He sat, abruptly. "We really are thinking of leaving," he said. He sounded shocked.

Settling herself beside him, Susan put an arm around his shoulders. He reached out to her waist almost absentmindedly. "It's a good life," she acknowledged, laying aside the live-or-dead confusion. "And one that will in all likelihood last forever."

They remained there for some time, subdued. Recalling that there was horror and darkness and grief that they would have to face, on the outside.

To this, an everlasting monotone was surely a relief. But what is life if one cannot perish? It drags. It hangs from tired shoulders like a weight, years and years and never anything worth doing to break the monotony, for there will always be tomorrow. And the next day, and the next. Weeks melted into a blurry stream in Aslan's Country, a never-ending tide that ever touched against the same bank. There were no dry spots to stretch thin over, no rocks to crash against, no rapids to battle through.

And ever the fear of asking too much, of being unthankful, of not appreciating enough. Usually buried under pleasure, but there, always there. Perfect chains.

Susan was the first to stir. "I don't know how, or when," she said, "But we're going to find one. A way out."

Caspian raised his head. "This is…strange to hear, but I miss a campfire."

"Riding a horse." His eyes flicked to hers, and she smiled. She had seen him watching the horses. She had known he'd never dare ride one- he'd never be so presumptuous.

"Thunderstorms."

"Snow!" She laughed. "I never thought I'd miss _snow_."

"There is much that his not included in perfection that makes a place perfect." Caspian got to his feet and ducked into the doorway of the house- an empty frame, as doors weren't needed here- and reemerged with his sword and Susan's bow. "Interesting. Meaningful."

"And some of that which makes it so may require more than a wave and a curtsey?" She indicated the weapons.

A grin. "I would rather have some other means of negotiation, should that be the case."

"I suppose you're right." Cupping her palm around a yawn- it _was_ barely past sunrise- Susan walked over and snagged her quiver from its hook on the wall, just inside. The leather strap was solid and comforting in her hand. It held wisdom.

"I'm going to miss it." If she had not been listening, she would not have caught the murmur. As if in response, she trailed her toe across the porch, remembering at the last moment to be wistful. Then: _Shoes. We'll need shoes._

They, too, were by the door, waiting for them. She passed the boots to Caspian and tugged on the slippers, wiggling her toes at the strange and uncomfortable constraint, hoping that the thin cloth was less delicate than it appeared.

A tear pricked at the corner of her eye. She poked at it as soon as it formed, the glistening wetness a glorious bead on her finger. After quivering, apprehensive now that it was close to freedom, it dropped to the porch. The small round stain gave Susan heart. She would not forget again.

Taking up her bow, she threaded her arm through Caspian's and, at the exact same moment, they stepped out to the dawn, to the danger, to the future that was theirs for the making.

.

**Okay. It's been much too long, no? Yeah. I'm going to add and switch around this chapter a bit, if my past fanfics are any indication, but I figured I'd better get this out before I quadruple-guessed every comma (we're waaay past second-guessing here, unfortunately) and began having pieces chopped off of me by PO'ed reviewers. **

**Namely a certain unnamed someone who knows where I live.**

**Oh, and and about when Susan assumes that her siblings were feeling terror when the train crashed- I know in LB, Peter said he was "excited" rather than scared. But this is Susan's thought process, here. And besides, if I were dying in the middle of a train crash I'm pretty sure that no matter what I'd feel at least a little anxious. Yep.  
**

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed. Thanks to everyone who read, even if you didn't comment- though naturally the reviewers get the **_**fresh **_**brownies. **

**Second long finished fanfic! Woo! Happy dance! Or…ah shimikins, it's over. **


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